04.03.2020
Children's works about summer and their authors. Poems, stories, fairy tales about summer a book on fiction (senior group) on the topic. Composition Summer rain
Summer. Short stories about summer for children 5-7 years old.
Dear colleagues, this section presents short stories about summer for children aged 5-7. There are a lot of them, I made a selection of the most convenient and understandable for children of senior preschool age.
Stories for children about summer, nature and animals in summer.
Summer in the forest.
Good in the woods on a hot afternoon. What can you not see here! Tall pines hung spiky peaks. Christmas trees bend thorny branches. A curly birch flaunts with fragrant leaves. Trembling gray aspen. A stocky oak spread out carved leaves. A strawberry eye looks out of the grass. A fragrant berry blushes nearby.
Lily of the valley catkins swing between long, smooth leaves. With a strong nose, a woodpecker knocks on the trunk. Oriole screams. A tenacious squirrel flashed its fluffy tail. There is a crackling noise in the distance. Isn't that a bear?
On the field in summer.
Fun on the field, free on the wide! To the blue stripe of the distant forest, multi-colored fields seem to run along the hills. The golden rye is agitated; she inhales the strengthening air. Young oats turn blue; blooming buckwheat with red stems, with white-pink, honey flowers, turns white. Farther away from the road, curly peas hid, and behind them a pale green strip of flax with bluish eyes. On the other side of the road, the fields turn black under the flowing steam.
The lark flutters over the rye, and the sharp-winged eagle vigilantly looks from above: he sees the noisy quail in the thick rye, he sees the field mouse, as she hurries into her hole with a grain that has fallen from a ripe ear. Hundreds of invisible grasshoppers crackle everywhere.
Morning rays.
A red sun swam up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake the earth.
The first beam flew and hit the lark. The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: “Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped its wings and sang: ku-ka-re-ku! The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms. The fourth beam hit the hive. A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the nursery, on the little lazy boy's bed: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.
My Russia
Since that summer, I have forever and with all my heart attached myself to Central Russia. I do not know a country that has such tremendous lyrical power and is so touchingly picturesque - with all its sadness, calmness and spaciousness - as the middle zone of Russia. The magnitude of this love is difficult to measure. Everyone knows this for themselves. You love every blade of grass drooping from the dew or warmed by the sun, every mug of water from a summer well, every tree above the lake, trembling leaves in the calm, every cock crow, every cloud floating across the pale and high sky. And if I sometimes want to live up to a hundred and twenty years, as grandfather Nechipor predicted, it is only because one life is not enough to experience to the end all the charm and all the healing power of our Central Ural nature.
Thunderstorm in the forest
Tolstoy Alexey NikolaevichBut what is it? The wind suddenly came up and rushed; the air trembled all around: is it not thunder? You are coming out of a ravine... what is that lead line in the sky? Is the heat thickening? Is the cloud coming? But then the lightning flashed weakly ... Eh, yes, this is a thunderstorm! The sun is still shining brightly all around: you can still hunt. But the cloud is growing; its front edge is extended by a sleeve, tilted by a vault. Grass, bushes, everything suddenly darkened ... Hurry! over there, it seems, you can see a hay shed ... rather ... You ran, entered ...
What is rain? What are lightning bolts? In some places, water dripped onto the fragrant hay through the thatched roof ... But then the sun began to play again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles all around, how fresh and liquid the air, how it smells of wild strawberries and mushrooms!..
Summer morning.
Iris RevueSummer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer mornings are amazing. Light clouds float high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river throws off a haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, it illuminates the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks attentively, as if looking for something.
It's good to wander through the summer forest. Among the trees above all are pines. The spruces are also not small, but they do not know how to pull their top so high towards the sun. You gently step on the emerald moss. What is there in the forest: mushrooms-berries, mosquitoes-grasshoppers, mountains-slopes. summer forest- this is the pantry of nature.
And here is the first meeting - a big, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?
Short stories for children about summer, nature and animals in summer."My Russia"
Since that summer, I have forever and with all my heart become attached to Central Russia. I do not know a country that has such tremendous lyrical power and is so touchingly picturesque - with all its sadness, calmness and spaciousness - as the middle zone of Russia. The magnitude of this love is difficult to measure. Everyone knows this for themselves. You love every blade of grass drooping from the dew or warmed by the sun, every mug of water from a summer well, every tree above the lake, trembling leaves in the calm, every cock crow, every cloud floating across the pale and high sky. And if I sometimes want to live up to a hundred and twenty years, as grandfather Nechipor predicted, it is only because one life is not enough to experience to the end all the charm and all the healing power of our Central Ural nature.
"On the field in summer"
Fun on the field, free on the wide! To the blue stripe of the distant forest, multi-colored fields seem to run along the hills. The golden rye is agitated; she inhales the strengthening air. Young oats turn blue; blooming buckwheat with red stems, with white-pink, honey flowers, turns white. Farther away from the road, curly peas hid, and behind them a pale green strip of flax with bluish eyes. On the other side of the road, the fields turn black under the flowing steam.
The lark flutters over the rye, and the sharp-winged eagle vigilantly looks from above: he sees the noisy quail in the thick rye, he sees the field mouse, as she hurries into her hole with a grain that has fallen from a ripe ear. Hundreds of invisible grasshoppers crackle everywhere.
"Morning Rays"
A red sun floated up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake the earth.
The first beam flew and hit the lark. The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: “Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped its wings and sang: ku-ka-re-ku! The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms. The fourth beam hit the hive. A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the nursery, on the little lazy boy's bed: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.
"Summer evening"
In the distant and pale depths of the sky, stars were just emerging; in the west it was still red - there the sky seemed clearer and cleaner; the semicircle of the moon shone gold through the black mesh of the weeping birch. Other trees either stood like gloomy giants, with a thousand gaps like eyes, or merged into continuous gloomy bulks. Not a single leaf moved; the upper branches of lilacs and acacias seemed to be listening to something and stretched out in the warm air. The house grew dark near; long, illuminated shadows were drawn on it in patches of reddish light. The evening was mild and quiet; but a restrained, passionate sigh seemed to be in this silence.
"Forest noise"
Korolenko Vladimir Galaktionovich
The forest is noisy...
There was always a noise in this forest - even, drawn out, like the echo of a distant ringing, calm and vague, like a quiet song without words, like a vague memory of the past. There was always a noise in it, because it was an old, dense forest, which had not yet been touched by the saw and ax of the forest dealer. Tall hundred-year-old pines with mighty red trunks stood in a gloomy army, tightly closed at the top with green peaks. It was quiet below, smelling of tar; through the canopy of pine needles, with which the soil was strewn, bright ferns made their way, splendidly spread out with a bizarre fringe and stood motionless, without rustling their leaves. In damp corners, green grasses stretched in tall stems; the white porridge bowed its heavy heads, as if in quiet languor. And above, endlessly and without interruption, the forest noise was drawn, like the vague sighs of an old forest.
"What is the dew on the grass"
When you go to the forest on a sunny morning in summer, you can see diamonds in the fields, in the grass. All these diamonds shine and shimmer in the sun in different colors - yellow, red, and blue.
When you come closer and see what it is, you will see that these are drops of dew gathered in the triangular leaves of grass and glisten in the sun. The leaf of this grass inside is shaggy and fluffy, like velvet.
And the drops roll on the leaf and do not wet it.
When you inadvertently pick off a leaf with a dewdrop, the drop will roll down like a ball of light, and you will not see how it slips past the stem. It used to be that you would tear off such a cup, slowly bring it to your mouth and drink a dewdrop, and this dewdrop seemed tastier than any drink.
"Summer Thunderstorms"
Summer thunderstorms pass over the earth and fall below the horizon. Lightnings either strike the ground with a direct blow, or blaze on black clouds.
A rainbow sparkles over the damp distance. Thunder rolls, rumbles, growls, rumbles, shakes the earth.
"Flowers"
Innocent blue-eyed forget-me-nots peeped out from the mint thickets near the water's edge. And further, behind the hanging loops of blackberries, wild rowan blossomed along the slope with tight yellow inflorescences. Tall red clover mingled with mousepeas and bedstraws, and above all this closely crowded community of flowers rose a gigantic thistle. He stood firmly up to his waist in the grass and looked like a knight in armor with steel spikes on his elbows and kneecaps.
The heated air above the flowers "shimmered", swayed, and from almost every cup protruded the striped belly of a bumblebee, bee or wasp. Like white and lemon leaves, always at random, butterflies flew.
Farther on, hawthorn and rose hips rose like a high wall. Their branches were so intertwined that it seemed as if fiery rosehip flowers and white hawthorn flowers smelling of almonds had by some miracle blossomed on the same bush.
The wild rose stood with large flowers turned towards the sun, elegant, completely festive, covered with many sharp buds. Its flowering coincided with the most short nights- on our Russian, slightly northern nights, when the nightingales rattle in the dew all night long, the greenish dawn does not leave the horizon and in the deadest time of the night it is so light that the mountain tops of the clouds are clearly visible in the sky.
"Summer has begun"
In the distance it thumped deafly - dark heavy clouds crawled over the village. They crawled slowly, menacingly swirling and imperiously growing to the very horizon.
The village became dark and silent. Even the cattle fell silent in anticipation. And suddenly a deafening roar shook the ground.
Doors and gates slammed all over the village. People ran out into the street, put the tubs under the streams and, in the pouring rain, joyfully called to each other. Barefoot children rushed through the puddles like foals, the short northern summer began.
Poems, stories, fairy tales
Summer
So much light! So much sun!
So much greenery all around!
Summer has come again
And warmth came to our house.
And there's so much light around
Smells like spruce and pine.
If only it were summer
It was a whole year with me!
Summer gifts
What will you give me, summer?
A lot of sunlight!
In the sky, rainbow-dygy!
And daisies in the meadow!
What else will you give me?
The key that rings in silence
Pines, maples and oaks,
Strawberries and mushrooms!
I will give you a cookie,
So that, going out to the edge,
You shouted louder to her:
"Guess me quickly!"
And she answers you
Guessed for many years!
ripe summer
ripe summer
Dressed in berries
In apples and plums.
The days have become beautiful.
How many colors!
How much light!
The sun is on top of summer!
Happy summer
Summer, summer is upon us!
It became dry and warm.
Straight down the track
They walk barefoot.
Bees are circling, birds are flying,
And Marina is having fun.
Rainbow
The sky cleared up
Far blue!
The rain didn't seem to be
The river is like crystal!
Over the fast river
lighting up the meadows,
Appeared in the sky
Rainbow arc!
Sunny morning
Lots and lots of sun
Suns - a whole country!
Knit sunny feet
In the low branches by the window.
Here it is a little more
Strength will accumulate in the sky,
golden centipede
Get into my house!
In summer in the heat
How beautiful in the summer in the heat
Take a walk with mom in the woods
Enjoy the silence
Bright blue skies.
Summer sun rays
What a good day!
A light breeze blows.
Summer sun rays
So nice hot!
How we spent our summer time
We walked, sunbathed,
They played near the lake.
Sat on the bench -
Ate two meatballs.
frog brought
And they grew up a little.
All year round. June
June has come.
"June! June!" -
Birds are chirping in the garden.
Just blow on a dandelion
And it will all fall apart.
All year round. July
Haymaking takes place in July.
Somewhere, thunder grumbles at times.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.
All year round. August
We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the hard work.
The sun over the spacious
Niwami is worth it.
And sunflower seeds
black
Packed.
What does the sun look like?
What does the sun look like?
at the round window.
Flashlight in the dark.
It looks like a ball
Damn hot too
And on the pie in the stove.
On a yellow button.
To a light bulb. On an onion.
On a copper patch.
On a cheesecake.
A little bit of orange
And even on the pupil.
Only if the sun is a ball -
Why is he hot?
If the sun is cheese
Why can't you see holes?
If the sun is a bow
Everyone would cry around.
So it shines in my window
Not a penny, not a pancake, but the sun!
Let it look like everything -
still the most expensive!
Morning
Inaudibly a beam made its way to them,
Collected dewdrops in a cobweb
And hid somewhere between the clouds.
I draw summer
I draw summer
And what color?
Red paint -
Sun,
Roses on the lawns
And green is the field,
Mowing in the meadows.
Blue paint - the sky
And a melodious stream.
And what kind of paint
Will I leave the cloud?
I draw summer
It's very difficult…
Why is there so much light?
Why is there so much light?
Why is it suddenly so warm?
Because it's summer
For the whole summer came to us.
That's why every day
It's getting longer every day
Well, the nights
Night from night
Getting shorter and shorter...
summer path
The back of the path is on fire,
The path rushes to the river in the heat.
- Fluff! - from a cliff into a light pond.
Look - already on the other shore
Winds the field, fluttering like a butterfly,
As if she didn’t swim - dry!
red summer
Here comes the summer -
Strawberry blushed:
Turns sideways to the sun -
Everything will be filled with scarlet juice.
In the field - a red carnation,
Red clover. Take a look:
And wild rose hips in summer
All covered in red.
It can be seen that people are not in vain
They call summer red.
Why is summer short?
Why for all the guys
Is summer missing?
Summer is like chocolate
Melts very fast!
The sun shines brightly
The sun is shining brightly.
The air is warm.
And wherever you look
Everything around is light!
They dazzle in the meadow
Bright flowers.
covered in gold
Dark sheets.
Sunflower
golden sunflower,
Petals are rays.
He is the son of the sun
And a cheerful cloud.
Wakes up in the morning
The sun shines
close at night
Yellow eyelashes.
In summer, our sunflowers -
Like a colored flashlight.
In the autumn we are black
Give a seed.
Summer
Glad in the summer I swim
And sunbathing on the beach
And ride big
Play badminton with my sister.
After reading a good book
Take a nap in a hammock in the heat.
Summer delicious gifts
Collect at the end of summer.
Dandelion
wears a dandelion
yellow robe.
Will grow up to dress up
In a white dress.
June
The departures became bolder,
It became quieter and brighter.
The day grows, grows, grows -
Turn towards night soon.
In the meantime, overgrown path,
Strawberry, unhurried
June is coming!
summer song
Summer laughs again
In an open window
And the sun and the light
Full, full, full!
Again panties and t-shirts
They lie on the shore
And the lawns bask
In chamomile snow!
Morning
The meadow is fastened with all the dewdrops.
Not audibly, a beam made its way to them,
Collected dewdrops in a cobweb
And hid somewhere between the clouds.
Heat
Heat stands in the middle of the yard,
Stands and roasts in the morning.
Climb into the depths of the yard -
And in the depths stands the Heat.
It's time for the heat to leave
But all out of spite is the Heat!
Today, tomorrow and yesterday
Everywhere Heat, Heat, Heat...
Well, isn't she lazy?
Stand in the sun all day?
Summer rain
"Gold, gold is falling from the sky!" -
Children scream and run after the rain...
Enough, children, we will collect it,
Only we will collect golden grain
In full barns of fragrant bread!
In the forest
We are in the forest in summer
Gathered raspberries,
And top each
Filled up the basket.
We shouted to the forest
All in unison: - Spa-si-bo!
And the forest answered us:
"Thank you! Thank you!"
Then suddenly he swayed
sigh... and shut up.
Probably by the forest
Tired tongue.
Warm rain
A cheerful thunder rumbled ...
The rain is falling in the dense forest.
It's a bathing day there
Wash all and sundry.
messing up your hair,
Wash the birch heads.
dusty oaks
Wash red forelocks.
The linden bent in the rain,
Washes the leaves to a squeak.
In front of puddle mirrors
They take shower trees.
And mountain ash and aspen
Wash necks, wash backs...
Wash all and sundry
After all, today is bath day!
Summer
If there are thunderstorms in the sky
If the grasses bloomed
If early morning dew
Blades of grass are bent to the ground,
If in the groves above the viburnum
Until the night, the rumble of bees,
If warmed by the sun
All the water in the river to the bottom -
So it's already summer!
So spring is over!
flying flower
(poem about dandelion)
roadside dandelion
Was like the golden sun
But faded and became like
On fluffy white smoke.
You fly over the warm meadow
And over a quiet river.
I will be to you as a friend
Waving your hand for a long time.
You carry on the wings of the wind
golden seeds,
To the sunny dawn
Spring has returned to us.
Rain
Early in the morning, exactly at five,
The rain came out for a walk.
Hurry out of habit -
The whole earth asked to drink, -
Suddenly he reads on the tablet:
"Do not walk on the grass".
The rain said sadly:
"Oh!"
And left.
The lawn is dry.
sun bunny
sun bunny
Jumped out the window
sun bunny
He said: “Oh-hoo!”
I immediately woke up
smiled at him,
Stretched slightly...
Easy on the heart!
July - top of summer
July - the crown of summer, -
The newspaper reminded
But above all newspapers -
Daylight decline;
But before this little one,
The most secret of signs, -
Ku-ku, ku-ku, - crown, -
The cuckoo chimed
Farewell greetings.
And from lime blossom
Consider that the song is sung
Consider there is no half-summer, -
July is the peak of summer.
August
August - asters,
August - stars
August - bunches
Grapes and rowan
Rusty - August!
Behind the village at full will
Behind the village at full will
Airplane wind blows.
There's a potato field
Everything is blooming purple.
And beyond the field, where the mountain ash
Always out of tune with the wind
A path runs through the oak forest
Down to the cold pond.
A boat glided through the bushes
Ripples and sun sharp shine.
On the raft rumbles clearly
The fraction of the rolls under the booming splash.
The pond turns blue with a round cup.
Willows lean towards the water...
There are shirts on the raft,
And the boys are all in the pond.
The sun streaked.
Shadows curl like smoke
Eh, undress behind a birch,
I will stretch out my hands - and to them!
Why is summer short?
Why for all the guys
Is summer missing?
Summer is like chocolate
Melts very fast!
Summer is ending
The last gentle warmth
So far, summer spoils us ...
The sky is transparent like glass
Washed by rain and wind.
Ranks of old poplars
Resting in the old park
And the flower beds are lush along the alleys
Blooming, fragrant...
A steamboat floats on the river,
The grass of the lawns is emerald,
And in the coming autumn coming
Still hard to believe...
summer in the forest
Good in the woods on a hot afternoon. What can you not see here! Tall pines hung spiky peaks. Christmas trees bend thorny branches. A curly birch flaunts with fragrant leaves. Trembling gray aspen. A stocky oak spread out carved leaves. A strawberry eye looks out of the grass. A fragrant berry blushes nearby.
Lily of the valley catkins swing between long, smooth leaves. With a strong nose, a woodpecker knocks on the trunk. Oriole screams. A tenacious squirrel flashed its fluffy tail. There is a crackling noise in the distance. Isn't that a bear?
Konstantin Ushinsky
On the field in summer
Fun on the field, free on the wide! To the blue stripe of the distant forest, multi-colored fields seem to run along the hills. The golden rye is agitated; she inhales the strengthening air. Young oats turn blue; blooming buckwheat with red stems, with white-pink, honey flowers, turns white. Farther away from the road, curly peas hid, and behind them a pale green strip of flax with bluish eyes. On the other side of the road, the fields turn black under the flowing steam.
The lark flutters over the rye, and the sharp-winged eagle vigilantly looks from above: he sees the noisy quail in the thick rye, he sees the field mouse, as she hurries into her hole with a grain that has fallen from a ripe ear. Hundreds of invisible grasshoppers crackle everywhere.
Konstantin Ushinsky
morning rays
A red sun floated up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake the earth.
The first beam flew and hit the lark. The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: “Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped its wings and sang: ku-ka-re-ku! The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms. The fourth beam hit the hive. A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the nursery, on the little lazy boy's bed: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.
Konstantin Ushinsky
My Russia
Since that summer, I have forever and with all my heart become attached to Central Russia. I do not know a country that has such tremendous lyrical power and is so touchingly picturesque - with all its sadness, calmness and spaciousness - as the middle zone of Russia. The magnitude of this love is difficult to measure. Everyone knows this for themselves. You love every blade of grass drooping from the dew or warmed by the sun, every mug of water from a summer well, every tree above the lake, trembling leaves in the calm, every cock crow, every cloud floating across the pale and high sky. And if I sometimes want to live up to a hundred and twenty years, as grandfather Nechipor predicted, it is only because one life is not enough to experience to the end all the charm and all the healing power of our Central Ural nature.
Konstantin Paustovsky
Thunderstorm in the forest
But what is it? The wind suddenly came up and rushed; the air trembled all around: is it not thunder? You are coming out of a ravine... what is that lead line in the sky? Is the heat thickening? Is the cloud coming? But then the lightning flashed weakly ... Eh, yes, this is a thunderstorm! The sun is still shining brightly all around: you can still hunt. But the cloud is growing; its front edge is extended by a sleeve, tilted by a vault. Grass, bushes, everything suddenly darkened ... Hurry! over there, it seems, you can see a hay shed ... rather ... You ran, entered ...
What is rain? What are lightning bolts? In some places, water dripped onto the fragrant hay through the thatched roof ... But then the sun began to play again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles all around, how fresh and liquid the air, how it smells of wild strawberries and mushrooms!..
Alexey Tolstoy
Summer morning
Summer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer mornings are amazing. Light clouds float high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river throws off a haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, it illuminates the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks attentively, as if looking for something.
It's good to wander through the summer forest. Among the trees above all are pines. The spruces are also not small, but they do not know how to pull their top so high towards the sun. You gently step on the emerald moss. What is there in the forest: mushrooms-berries, mosquitoes-grasshoppers, mountains-slopes. The summer forest is a pantry of nature.
And here is the first meeting - a big, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?
Iris Revue
Good summer!
Good summer! The golden rays of the sun are generously pouring onto the earth. The river runs like a blue ribbon into the distance. The forest is in festive, summer decoration. Flowers - purple, yellow, blue scattered across the clearings, edges.
All sorts of miracles happen in the summer. There is a forest in a green attire, underfoot - a green grass-ant, completely strewn with dew. But what is it? Yesterday there was nothing in this clearing, but today it is completely littered with small, red, as if precious, pebbles. This is a strawberry. Isn't it a miracle?
Puffs, rejoicing in delicious provisions, a hedgehog. Hedgehog - he is omnivorous. Therefore, glorious days have come for him. And for other animals too. All living things rejoice. Birds joyfully flood, they are now in their homeland, they don’t have to rush to distant, warm lands yet, they enjoy warm, sunny days.
Summer is loved by children and adults. For long sunny days and short warm nights. For the rich harvest of the summer garden. For generous fields full of rye, wheat.
All living things sing and triumph in the summer.
Iris Revue
Summer evening
The summer day is drawing to a close. The sky gradually darkens, the air becomes cooler. It looks like it might rain now, but inclement weather is a rarity in summer. It gets quieter in the forest, but the sounds do not disappear completely. Some animals hunt at night, the dark time of the day is the most favorable time for them. Their eyesight is poorly developed, but their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. Such animals include, for example, a hedgehog. Sometimes you can hear how the turtledove groans.
Nightingale sings at night. During the day, he also performs a solo part, but among the polyphony it is difficult to hear and make out it. Another thing at night. Someone sings, someone groans. But in general, the forest freezes. Nature rests in order to please everyone again in the morning.
Iris Revue
June
Zinka decided:
“I’ll fly now to all places: to the forest, and to the field, and to the river ... I’ll examine everything.”
The first thing I did was visit my old friend, the Red Hat Woodpecker. And as soon as he saw her from a distance, he shouted:
Kik! Kik! Away, away! Here are my possessions!
Zinka was very surprised. And she was strongly offended by the Woodpecker: here's a friend for you!
I remembered the field partridges, gray, with chocolate horseshoes on their chests. She flew to them in the field, looking for partridges - they are not in the old place! But there was a whole flock. Where did everyone go?
She flew, flew across the field, searched, searched, forcibly found one cockerel: she sits in rye, - and the rye is already high, - she cries:
Chir-wick! Chir-wick!
Zinka to him. And he told her:
Chir-wick! Chir-wick! Chichire! Get out, get out of here!
How so! Titmouse got angry. - How long ago did I save you all from death - released from the ice prison, and now you don’t let me even close to you?
Chir-vir, - the partridge cockerel was embarrassed. - True, she saved me from death. We remember all this. But still, fly away from me: now the time is different, this is how I want to fight!
It’s good that birds don’t have tears, otherwise Zinka would probably cry: she was so offended, she became so bitter!
She turned silently, flew to the river.
It flies over the bushes, - suddenly a gray beast from the bushes!
Zinka shied away.
I did not recognize? the animal laughs. “After all, we are old friends.
And who are you? - asks Zinka.
Hare I. Belyak.
What kind of white are you when you are gray? I remember a hare: he is all white, only black on his ears.
I am white in winter, so that I cannot be seen in the snow. And in the summer I'm gray.
Well, we got talking. Nothing, they did not quarrel with him. And then the Old Sparrow explained to Zinka:
This month of June is the beginning of summer. All of us, the birds, have nests at this time, and in the nests there are precious eggs and chicks. We do not let anyone near our nests - neither enemy nor friend: and a friend can accidentally break an egg. The animals also have cubs, the animals also will not let anyone into their hole. One hare without worries: he lost his kids all over the forest and forgot to think about them. Why, hares need a hare mother only in the first days: they will drink mother's milk for several days, and then they themselves crammed grass. Now, - added the Old Sparrow, - the sun is at its strongest, and he has the longest working day. Now everyone on earth will find something to stuff their tummies with.
July
WITH Christmas tree, - said the Old Sparrow, - six months have already passed, exactly six months. Remember that the second half of the year begins at the height of summer. And now the month of July has come. And this is the most good month both for chicks and for animals, because there is a lot of everything around: sunlight, warmth, and various delicious food.
Thank you, Zinka said.
And flew.
Time for me to settle down, she thought. - There are a lot of hollows in the forest. I’ll borrow whatever free one I like, and I’ll live in it with my house!”
I thought of something, but it was not so easy to do it.
All hollows in the forest are occupied. All nests have chicks. Who else has babies, naked, who has a cannon, and who has feathers, but still yellow-mouthed, they squeak all day long, they ask for food.
Parents are busy, flying back and forth, catching flies, mosquitoes, catching butterflies, collecting worm caterpillars, but they themselves do not eat: they carry everything to the chicks. And nothing: they don’t complain, they also sing songs.
Zinka is bored alone.
“Give me,” he thinks, “I will help someone feed the chicks. They will thank me."
She found a butterfly on a spruce, grabbed it in her beak, looking for someone to give it to.
He hears - small goldfinches squeak on the oak, there their nest is on a branch.
Zinka quickly go there - and put the butterfly into one goldfinch's gaping mouth.
The goldfinch took a sip, but the butterfly does not climb: it hurts too much.
Stupid chick tries, chokes - nothing comes out.
And he began to choke. Zinka screams in fright, does not know what to do.
Then Goldfinch flew in. Now - time! - grabbed the butterfly, pulled it out of the throat of the goldfinch and threw it away. And Zinke says:
March from here! You almost killed my chick. Is it possible to give a small whole butterfly? She didn't even take off her wings!
Zinka rushed into the thicket, hid there: she was both ashamed and offended.
Then she flew through the forest for many days - no, no one accepts her in her company!
And every day, more guys come to the forest. All with baskets, cheerful; they go - they sing songs, and then they disperse and pick berries: both in their mouths and in baskets. The raspberries are already ripe.
Zinka keeps spinning around them, flies from branch to branch, and Titmouse and the guys are more fun, even though she does not understand their language, and they do not understand her.
And it happened once: one little girl climbed into the raspberry bush, walks quietly, takes the berries.
And Zinka flutters through the trees above her.
And suddenly he sees: big scary bear in raspberries.
The girl just approaches him, - she does not see him.
And he does not see her: he also picks berries. He will bend a bush with his paw - and into his mouth.
“Now,” Zinka thinks, “a girl will stumble upon him, the monster will eat her up! Save her, save her!"
And she screamed from the tree in her own blue way:
Zin-zin-ven! Girl, girl! Here is a bear. Run away!
The girl did not pay any attention to her: she did not understand a word.
And the scary bear understood: he immediately reared up, looked around: where is the girl?
“Well,” Zinka decided, “the little one is gone!”
And the bear saw the girl, sank down on all four paws - and how he would rush away from her through the bushes!
Zinka was surprised:
“I wanted to save the girl from the bear, but I saved the bear from the girl! Such a monster, but the little man is afraid!
Since then, meeting the guys in the forest, Titmouse sang a sonorous song to them:
Zin-zin-le! Zin-zin-le!
Who gets up early
He takes mushrooms
And sleepy and lazy
They go after nettles.
This little girl, from whom the bear ran away, always came into the forest first and left the forest with a full basket.
August
After July, - said the Old Sparrow, - comes August. The third and - mind you this - the last month of summer.
August, - Zinka repeated.
And she began to think about what she should do this month.
Well, yes, she was Titmouse, and titmouses cannot sit in one place for a long time. They would still flutter and jump, climb the branches either up or down with their heads. You don't think so much.
Lived a little in the city - boring. And she herself did not notice how she again found herself in the forest.
She found herself in the forest and wonders: what happened to all the birds there?
Just now everyone was chasing her, they didn’t let her close to themselves and their chicks, and now all they hear is: “Zinka, fly to us!”, “Zinka, come here!”, “Zinka, fly with us!”, “Zinka Zinka, Zinka!
He looks - all the nests are empty, all the hollows are free, all the chicks have grown up and learned to fly. Children and parents all live together, so they fly in broods, and no one sits still, and they no longer need nests. And everyone is happy with the guest: it’s more fun to roam in the company.
Zinka will stick to one, then to another; one day
with crested titmouse will hold, the other - with fluffy chickadees. Lives carefree: warm, light, food as much as you want.
And Zinka was surprised when she met Belka and talked with her.
Looks - A squirrel has descended from a tree to the ground and is looking for something in the grass there. I found a mushroom, grabbed it in my teeth - and march with it back to the tree. She found a sharp knot there, poked a mushroom at it, but did not eat it: she galloped further and again to the ground - to look for mushrooms.
Zinka flew up to her and asked:
What are you doing, squirrel? Why don't you eat mushrooms, but stick them on knots?
What do you mean why? Belka answers. - I collect for the future, I dry it in reserve. Winter will come - you will disappear without a supply.
Zinka began to notice here: not only squirrels - many little animals collect supplies for themselves. Mice, voles, hamsters from the field carry grain behind their cheeks into their minks, fill their pantries there.
Zinka also began to hide something for a rainy day; finds delicious seeds, pecks them, and what is superfluous - puts it somewhere in the bark, in a crack.
The nightingale saw this and laughs:
What, Titmouse, do you want to stock up for the whole long winter? That way you, too, dig a hole just right.
Zinka was confused.
And how are you, - he asks, - do you think in winter?
Phew! whistled the Nightingale. - Autumn will come - I'll fly away from here. Far, far away I'll fly away, to where it's warm in winter and roses bloom. It's as satisfying as it is here in the summer.
Why, you are the Nightingale, - says Zinka, - what do you care: today you sang here, and tomorrow - there. And I'm Sinichka. Where I was born, I will live there all my life.
And I thought to myself: “It’s time, it’s time for me to think about my house! So people went out into the field - they harvest bread, take it away from the field. Summer is coming to an end...
Vitaly Bianchi
Four artists
Somehow four magic painters came together: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn; agreed and argued: which of them draws better? They argued and argued and decided to choose the Red Sun as a judge: “It lives high in the sky, it has seen a lot of wonderful things in its lifetime, let it judge us.”
The sun agreed to be the judge. The painters got to work. The first volunteered to paint a picture of Zimushka-Winter.
“Only Sunshine should not look at my work,” she decided. “Must not see her until I finish.”
Winter stretched gray clouds across the sky and well, let's cover the earth with fresh fluffy snow! In one day, everything was painted around.
Fields and hillocks turned white. thin ice the river was covered, subsided, fell asleep, as in a fairy tale.
Winter walks in the mountains, in the valleys, walks in large soft felt boots, steps quietly, inaudibly. And she herself glances around - here and there she will correct her magical picture.
Here is a hillock in the middle of the field, from which the prankster took the wind and blew off his white hat. Need to wear it again. And over there, between the bushes, a gray hare is sneaking. It’s bad for him, the gray one: on the white snow, a predatory beast or bird will immediately notice him, you can’t hide from them anywhere.
“Get dressed, oblique, in a white fur coat,” Winter decided, “then you won’t be noticed soon in the snow.”
And Lisa Patrikeevna has no need to dress in white. She lives in a deep hole, hiding from enemies underground. She just needs to be prettier and warmer to dress up.
A wonderful fur coat was in store for her by Winter, just marvelous: all bright red, like a fire burns! The fox will lead with a fluffy tail, as if sparks will scatter on the snow.
Winter looked into the forest. “I’ll decorate it so that the Sun will admire it!”
She dressed the pines and ate in heavy snow coats; she pulled snow-white caps on them to the very eyebrows; I put on downy mittens on the branches. The forest heroes stand next to each other, stand decorously, calmly.
And below, under them, various bushes and young trees took refuge. They, like children, Winter also dressed in white fur coats.
And on the mountain ash that grows at the very edge, she threw a white veil. It worked out so well! At the ends of the branches near the mountain ash, clusters of berries hang, as if red earrings are visible from under a white coverlet.
Under the trees, Winter painted all the snow with a pattern of various footprints and footprints. There is also a hare footprint: in front there are two large paw prints, and behind - one after the other - two small ones; and fox - as if bred by a thread: paw to paw, so it stretches like a chain; And Gray wolf ran through the forest, also left his prints. But the bear trail is nowhere to be seen, and no wonder: Zimushka-Zima arranged for Toptygin a cozy lair in the thicket of the forest, covered the bear with a thick snow blanket from above: sleep on your health! And he is glad to try - he does not get out of the lair. Therefore, there is no bear trail in the forest.
But not only traces of animals are visible in the snow. In a forest clearing, where green lingonberry and blueberry bushes stick out, snow, like crosses, is trampled by bird tracks. These are forest chickens - hazel grouse and black grouse - running around the clearing here, pecking at the surviving berries.
Yes, here they are: black grouse, motley grouse and black grouse. On white snow, how beautiful they all are!
The picture of the winter forest turned out well, not dead, but alive! Now a gray squirrel will jump from knot to knot, then a spotted woodpecker, sitting on the trunk of an old tree, will begin to knock out seeds from pine cone. He will put her in a crevice and beat her with her beak!
lives winter forest. Snow-covered fields and valleys live. The whole picture of the gray-haired sorceress - Winters lives. You can show it to the Sun.
The sun parted a gray cloud. He looks at the winter forest, at the valleys ... And under his gentle gaze, everything around becomes even more beautiful.
The snow flared up. Blue, red, green lights lit up on the ground, in the bushes, in the trees. And a breeze blew, shook off the frost from the branches, and in the air, too, sparkled, multi-colored lights danced.
The picture turned out great! Perhaps you can't draw better.
The Sun admires the picture of Winter, admires the month, the other - he cannot take his eyes off her.
The snow sparkles brighter and brighter, everything is happier and merrier all around. Winter itself is not able to withstand so much heat and light. It's time to give way to another artist.
“Well, let's see if he can paint a picture more beautiful than mine,” Zima grumbles. “And it's time for me to rest.”
Another artist, Vesna-Krasna, started to work. She didn't get down to business right away. At first I thought: what kind of picture would she draw?
Here is a forest in front of her - gloomy, dull.
“Let me decorate it in my own way, in spring! »
She took thin, delicate brushes. She touched the birch branches a little with greenery, and hung long pink and silver earrings on aspens and poplars.
Day after day, Spring paints her picture more and more elegantly.
On a wide forest glade, with blue paint, she brought out a large spring puddle. And around her, like blue splashes, she scattered the first flowers of a snowdrop, lungwort.
Still draws a day and another. There are bird cherry bushes on the slope of the ravine; Spring covered their branches with shaggy clusters of white flowers. And on the edge of the forest, also all white, as if in snow, there are wild apple trees and pears.
The grass is already green in the middle of the meadow. And in the dampest places, like golden balls, marigold flowers bloomed.
Everything is alive around. Feeling the heat, insects and spiders crawl out of different lye. May beetles buzzed near the green birch branches. The first bees and butterflies fly to the flowers.
And how many birds are in the forest and in the fields! And for each of them Spring-Krasna came up with an important task. Together with the birds Spring builds cozy nests.
Here on a birch knot, near the trunk, is a finch's nest. It's like a growth on a tree - you won't notice it right away. And to make it even more inconspicuous, a white birch skin is woven into the outer walls of the nest. It turned out to be a nice nest!
Even better is the oriole's nest. Like a wicker basket, it is suspended in a fork in the branches.
And the long-nosed handsome kingfisher made his bird house on the steep bank of the river: he dug a mink with his beak, and made a nest in it; only lined it inside not with fluff, but with fish bones and scales. No wonder the kingfisher is considered the most skilled fisherman.
But, of course, the most wonderful nest was invented by Vesna-Krasna for one small reddish bird. A brown mitten hangs over the stream on a flexible alder branch. The mitten is not woven from wool, but from fine plants. Weaved it with their beaks by winged needlewomen - birds, nicknamed remezy. Only thumb birds were not tied at the mitten; instead, they left a hole - this is the entrance to the nest.
And many other wonderful houses for birds and animals were invented by the entertainer Spring!
Day after day goes by. The living picture of forests and fields became unrecognizable.
And what is it swarming in the green grass? Bunnies. They are only two days old, but what good fellows they are already: they glance in all directions, move their mustaches; waiting for their mother hare to feed them with milk.
With these kids, Spring-Krasna decided to finish her picture. Let the Sun look at her and rejoice at how everything around comes to life; let him judge: is it possible to paint a picture even more fun, even more elegant?
The sun peeked out from behind a blue cloud, looked out and admired. No matter how much it wandered across the sky, how much marvelous things it never saw, but it had never seen such beauty before. It looks at the picture of Spring, it cannot take its eyes off. Looks a month, another ...
The flowers of bird cherry, apple and pear trees had already faded and were showered with white snow for a long time; grass has long been growing green in place of a transparent spring puddle; in the nests of birds hatched and covered with feathers chicks; tiny hares have already become young nimble hares ...
Even Spring herself cannot recognize her picture. Something new, unfamiliar appeared in her. So, the time has come to give way to another artist-painter.
“I’ll see if this artist paints a picture more joyful, more cheerful than mine,” says Vesna. “And then I’ll fly to the north, they won’t wait for me there.”
Hot Summer has started. He thinks, wonders what kind of picture he should draw, and decided: “I’ll take simpler paints, but more juicy.” And so it did.
Summer painted the whole forest with juicy greenery; meadows and mountains were covered with green paint. Only for rivers and lakes took transparent, bright blue.
“Let,” Leto thinks, “everything in my picture will be ripe, ripe.” It looked into the old orchard, hung ruddy apples and pears on the trees, and tried so hard that even the branches could not stand it - they leaned to the very ground.
In the forest under the trees, under the bushes, Summer has planted many, many different mushrooms. Each fungus has chosen its place.
“Let in the light birch forest,” Summer decided, “boletus with gray roots in brown caps grow, and in the aspen forest, boletus.” Summer dressed them up in orange and yellow caps.
Many more of the various mushrooms appeared in a shady forest: russula, volnushki, boletus ... And in the glades, as if flowers had blossomed, fly agarics opened their bright red umbrellas.
Birches and maples were covered by Autumn with lemon yellowness. And the leaves of the aspens were blushed like ripe apples. The aspen tree became all bright red, all burning like a fire.
Autumn wandered into a forest clearing. A hundred-year-old oak-hero stands in the middle of it, stands, shakes its dense foliage.
"The mighty hero needs to be dressed in forged copper armor." So I dressed up the old man.
He looks, and not far away, at the edge of the clearing, thick, spreading lindens gathered in a circle, their branches lowered down. “They are best suited for a heavy headdress of golden brocade.”
All the trees and even the bushes were decorated by Autumn in their own way, in autumn: some in a yellow outfit, some in bright red ... Only pines and spruce did not know how to decorate. After all, they don’t have leaves on the branches, but needles, you can’t paint them. Let them stay as they were in the summer.
So the pines remained and ate dark green in summer. And because of this, the forest in its motley autumn attire became even brighter, even more elegant.
Autumn went from the forest to the fields, to the meadows. She removed the golden bread from the fields, brought it to the threshing floor, and in the meadows she swept fragrant haystacks into high haystacks, like towers.
The fields and meadows were empty, they became even wider, more spacious. And shoals stretched over them in the autumn sky migratory birds: cranes, geese, ducks ... And there, you look, high, high, under the very clouds, large snow-white birds - swans fly; fly, flap their wings like handkerchiefs, send farewell greetings to their native places.
Birds fly into warm countries. And the animals in their own way, in an animal way, prepare for the cold.
Autumn drives the prickly hedgehog to sleep under a pile of boughs, the badger - into a deep hole, the bear makes a bed of fallen leaves. But the squirrel is taught to dry mushrooms on branches, to collect ripe nuts in a hollow. Even an elegant gray-winged bird - a jay was forced by the naughty Autumn to pick up a mouthful of acorns and hide them in a clearing in soft green moss.
In autumn, every bird, every animal is busy, preparing for the winter, there is no time for them to waste time.
In a hurry, in a hurry Autumn, more and more new colors she finds for her picture. Gray clouds cover the sky. Cold rain washes away the motley dressing of foliage. And on thin telegraph wires along the road, like black beads on a thread, she plants a string of the last flying swallows.
The picture turned out to be unhappy. But there is also something good in it.
Autumn is satisfied with her work, you can show it to the Red Sun.
The Sun peeped out from behind a bluish cloud, and under his gentle gaze, the gloomy picture of Autumn immediately cheered up, smiled.
Like golden coins, the last birch leaves shone on the bare branches. The river, bordered by yellow reeds, became even bluer, the distance beyond the river became even more transparent and wider, the expanses of the native land became even more endless.
Looks Red Sun, can't take his eyes off. The picture turned out wonderful, only it seems as if something in it is not finished, as if the fields and forests, hushed, washed by the autumn rain, are waiting for something. They can't wait for the bare branches of bushes and trees when a new artist comes and dresses them in a white fluffy dress.
And this artist is not far away. It is already the turn of Zimushka-Zima to paint a new picture.
So four magic painters work in turn: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. And each of them is good in their own way. No way the Sun will decide whose picture is better. Who decorated the fields, forests and meadows more elegantly? What is more beautiful: white sparkling snow or a motley carpet of spring flowers, juicy greenery of Summer or yellow, golden colors of Autumn?
Or maybe everything is good in its own way? If so, then wizard painters have nothing to argue about; let each of them draw a picture for himself in his turn. And we look at their work and admire.
Georgy Skrebitsky
What is the dew on the grass
When you go to the forest on a sunny morning in summer, you can see diamonds in the fields, in the grass. All these diamonds shine and shimmer in the sun in different colors - yellow, red, and blue. When you come closer and see what it is, you will see that these are drops of dew gathered in triangular leaves of grass and glisten in the sun.
The leaf of this grass inside is shaggy and fluffy, like velvet. And the drops roll on the leaf and do not wet it.
When you inadvertently pick off a leaf with a dewdrop, the drop will roll down like a ball of light, and you will not see how it slips past the stem. It used to be that you would tear off such a cup, slowly bring it to your mouth and drink a dewdrop, and this dewdrop seemed tastier than any drink.
Lev Tolstoy
Pipe and jug
Strawberries ripened in the forest. Dad took a mug, mom took a cup, the girl Zhenya took a jug, and little Pavlik was given a saucer. They went into the forest and began to pick berries: whoever picks them up first. Zhenya's mother chose a better clearing and says:
Here's a great place for you, daughter. There are a lot of strawberries here. Go collect.
Zhenya wiped the jug with burdock and began to walk around. She walked and walked, looked and looked, found nothing and returned with an empty jug. He sees - everyone has strawberries. Dad has a quarter cup. Mom has half a cup. And little Pavlik has two berries on a silver platter.
Mom, and mom, why do you all have it, but I don’t have anything? You probably chose the worst clearing for me.
Did you search well?
Good. There are no berries, only leaves.
Have you looked under the leaves?
Didn't look.
Here you see! We must look.
Why doesn't Pavlik look in?
The peacock is small. He himself is as tall as strawberries, he doesn’t even need to look in, and you are already a pretty tall girl.
And dad says:
Berries are tricky. They are always hiding from people. You need to be able to get them. Watch how I do.
Then dad sat down, bent down to the very ground, looked under the leaves and began to look for berry after berry, saying:
Okay, Zhenya said. - Thank you, daddy. I will do so.
Zhenya went to her clearing, squatted down, bent down to the very ground and looked under the leaves. And under the leaves of the berries, apparently invisible. Eyes run wide. Zhenya began to pick berries and throw them into a jug. Vomiting and saying:
I take one berry, I look at another, I notice the third, and the fourth seems to me.
However, Zhenya soon got tired of squatting.
Enough with me, he thinks. - I already and so, probably, have typed much.
Zhenya got to her feet and looked into the jug. And there are only four berries. Quite a few! Again, you need to squat down. It's nothing you can do.
Zhenya sat down again on her haunches, began to pick berries, saying:
I take one berry, I look at another, I notice the third, and the fourth seems to me.
Zhenya looked into the jug, and there were only eight berries - even the bottom had not yet been closed.
Well, - he thinks, - I don’t like to collect at all. Bend over and bend over all the time. Until you pick up a jug, what good, and you can get tired. I'd better go and look for another clearing.
Zhenya went through the forest to look for such a clearing, where strawberries do not hide under the leaves, but climb into their eyes and ask for a jug.
I walked and walked, I didn’t find such a clearing, I got tired and sat down on a stump to rest. He sits, from nothing to do, takes out berries from a jug and puts it in his mouth. She ate all eight berries, looked into an empty jug and thinks:
What to do now? If only someone could help me!
As soon as she thought this, the moss stirred, the ant parted, and a small, strong old man crawled out from under the stump: a white coat, a gray beard, a velvet hat and a dry blade of grass across the hat.
Hello girl, she says.
Hello, uncle.
I'm not an uncle, but a grandfather. Al didn't know? I am an old boletus, a native forester, the head of all mushrooms and berries. What are you sighing about? Who hurt you?
Offended me, grandfather, berries.
Don't know. They are meek. How did they hurt you?
They don’t want to be seen, they hide under the leaves. You can't see anything from above. Bend over bend over. Until you pick up a full jug, what good, and you can get tired.
The old boletus, the indigenous forester, stroked his gray beard, grinned into his mustache and said:
Sheer rubbish! I have a special pipe for this. As soon as she starts to play, so now all the berries from under the leaves will appear.
An old boletus, a native forester, took out a pipe from his pocket and said:
Play, motherfucker.
The pipe began to play by itself, and as soon as it began to play, berries peeked out from under the leaves from everywhere.
Stop it, motherfucker.
The pipe stopped, and the berries hid.
Zhenya was delighted:
Grandpa, Grandpa, give me this pipe!
I can't donate. And let's change: I'll give you a pipe, and you give me a jug - I really liked it.
Fine. With great pleasure.
Zhenya gave the jug to the old boletus, the indigenous forester, took the pipe from him and quickly ran to her clearing. She ran, stood in the middle, said:
Play, motherfucker.
The pipe began to play, and at the same moment all the leaves in the clearing stirred, began to turn, as if the wind had blown on them.
First, the youngest curious berries, still quite green, looked out from under the leaves. Behind them, the heads of older berries were stuck out - one cheek is pink, the other is white. Then the berries came out quite ripe - large and red. And finally, old berries appeared from the very bottom, almost black, wet, fragrant, covered with yellow seeds.
And soon the whole clearing around Zhenya was strewn with berries, which shone brightly in the sun and reached for the pipe.
Play, darling, play! Zhenya screamed. - Play faster!
The pipe began to play faster, and even more berries poured out - so many that under them the leaves were not visible at all.
But Zhenya did not let up:
Play, darling, play! Play even faster.
The pipe began to play even faster, and the whole forest was filled with such a pleasant, quick ringing, as if it were not a forest, but a music box.
The bees stopped pushing the butterfly off the flower; the butterfly flapped its wings like a book, the robin chicks looked out from their light nest, which swayed in the elderberry branches, and opened their yellow mouths in admiration, the mushrooms rose on tiptoe so as not to miss a single sound, and even the old, pop-eyed dragonfly, known for its grumpy character , stopped in the air, admiring the wonderful music to the depths of her soul.
Now I’ll start picking!” Zhenya thought, and was already stretching out her hand to the largest and reddest berry, when she suddenly remembered that she had exchanged a jug for a pipe and now she had nowhere to put the strawberries.
Ooh, stupid bastard! the girl shouted angrily. - I have nowhere to put the berries, and you played out. Shut up now!
Zhenya ran back to the old boletus, the native forester, and said:
Grandpa, grandpa, give me back my pitcher! I have nowhere to pick berries.
Well, - answers the old boletus, a native forester, - I will give you your jug, only you give back my pipe.
Zhenya gave the old man a boletus, a native forester, his pipe, took her jug and quickly ran back to the clearing.
She ran, and there was not a single berry visible - only leaves. What a misfortune! There is a jug - there are not enough pipes. How to be here?
Zhenya thought, thought, and decided to go again to the old boletus, the native forester, for a pipe.
Comes and says:
Grandpa, grandpa, give me the pipe again!
Fine. Just give me the jug again.
I'm not giving it. I myself need a jug to put berries in it.
Well, then I won't give you a pipe.
Zhenya pleaded:
Grandfather, and grandfather, how am I going to pick berries in my jug when, without your pipe, they all sit under the leaves and don’t show up? I certainly need both a jug and a pipe.
Look, what a smart girl! Give her both a pipe and a jug! You can do without a pipe, with one jug.
I won't, grandpa.
And how do other people manage?
Other people bend down to the very ground, look under the leaves from the side and take berry after berry. They take one berry, look at another, notice the third, and imagine the fourth. So I don't like collecting. Bend over bend over. Until you pick up a full jug, what good, and you can get tired.
Ah, that's how! - said the old boletus, a native forester, and was so angry that his beard instead of a gray one turned black-black. - Oh, that's how! Yes, you, it turns out, just a lazybones! Take your jug and get out of here! You won't get any fluff.
With these words, the old boletus, the indigenous forest man, stamped his foot and fell under the stump.
Zhenya looked at her empty jug, remembered that her father, mother and little Pavlik were waiting for her, quickly ran to her clearing, squatted down, looked under the leaves and began to quickly take berry after berry. He takes one, looks at the other, notices the third, and imagines the fourth ...
Soon Zhenya took a full jug and returned to her father, mother and little Pavlik.
Here's a good girl, - dad said to Zhenya, - she brought a full jug! Are you tired?
Nothing, daddy. The pitcher helped me. And everyone went home - dad with a full mug, mom with a full cup, Zhenya with a full jug, and little Pavlik with a full saucer.
Zhenya didn't say anything about the pipe to anyone.
Valentin Kataev
scary story
The boys Shura and Petya were left alone.
They lived in the country - near the forest, in a small house. That evening, dad and mom went to visit their neighbors.
When it got dark, Shura and Petya washed themselves, undressed themselves and went to bed in their beds. They lie and are silent. There is no father or mother. It's dark in the room. And in the dark on the wall someone crawls - rustles; maybe - a cockroach, or maybe - someone else! ...
Shura and says from his bed:
I'm not scared at all.
I'm not scared at all either, - Petya answers from another bed.
We are not afraid of thieves, - says Shura.
We are not afraid of cannibals either, - Petya answers.
And we are not afraid of tigers, - says Shura.
They won't come here, - Petya answers.
And just as Shura was about to say that he wasn’t afraid of crocodiles either, when suddenly they heard—behind the door, in the entryway, someone was softly stamping their feet on the floor: thump... thump... thump... thump... thump... top... top....
How Petya will rush to Shura on the bed! They covered their heads with a blanket, pressed against each other. They lie quietly so that no one can hear them.
Don't breathe, - says Shura to Petya.
I don't breathe.
Top... top... slap... slap... top... top... slap... slap...
And through the blanket you can still hear someone walking outside the door and puffing in addition.
But then Mom and Dad came. They opened the porch, entered the house, turned on the light. Petya and Shura told them everything. Then mom and dad lit another lamp and began to look around all the rooms, in all corners. There is no one.
They came to the canopy. Suddenly, in the passage along the wall, someone ran into a corner ... He ran and curled up in a corner in a ball. Look - yes it's a hedgehog!
He must have climbed into the house from the forest. They wanted to pick him up, but he twitches and pricks with thorns. Then they rolled him up in a hat and took him to the closet. They gave me milk in a saucer and a piece of meat. And then everyone fell asleep. This hedgehog lived with the guys in the country all summer. He then puffed and stamped his feet at night, but no one was afraid of him anymore.
Evgeny Charushin
Honest caterpillar
The caterpillar considered itself very beautiful and did not miss a single drop of dew so as not to look into it.
How good am I! - the Caterpillar rejoiced, looking with pleasure at her flat face and arching her shaggy back to see two golden stripes on it. It's a pity no one notices this.
But one day she got lucky. A girl walked through the meadow and picked flowers. The caterpillar climbed onto the most beautiful flower and waited. And the girl saw her and said:
That's disgusting! Even looking at you is disgusting!
Ah well! - Caterpillar got angry. - Then I give an honest caterpillar word that no one, ever, anywhere, for anything and for no reason, in any case, under no circumstances will see me again!
I gave my word - you need to keep it, even if you are a Caterpillar. And the caterpillar crawled up the tree. From trunk to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to leaf. She took out a silk thread from her belly and began to wrap herself around it. She labored for a long time and finally made a cocoon.
Wow, how tired I am! sighed the Caterpillar. - Totally screwed up. It was warm and dark in the cocoon, there was nothing else to do, and the Caterpillar fell asleep. She woke up because her back was itching terribly. Then the Caterpillar began to rub against the walls of the cocoon. Rubbed, rubbed, rubbed them through and fell out. But she fell somehow strange - not down, but up.
And then the Caterpillar in the same meadow saw the same girl. “What a horror!” thought the Caterpillar. “Let me not be beautiful, it is not my fault, but now everyone will know that I am also a liar. I gave an honest caterpillar that no one would see me, and did not hold it back. Shame!” And the caterpillar fell into the grass.
And the girl saw her and said:
Such a beauty!
So trust people, - the Caterpillar grumbled. - Today they say one thing, and tomorrow - quite another.
Just in case, she looked into the dewdrop. What's happened? In front of her is an unfamiliar face with a long, long mustache. The caterpillar tried to bend its back and saw that large multi-colored wings appeared on its back.
Ah, that's what! she guessed. - A miracle happened to me. The most ordinary miracle: I became a Butterfly! This happens.
And she spun merrily over the meadow, because she did not give an honest butterfly word that no one would see her.
V.Berestov
Summer in the forest
Nice and free in the summer in the forest.
The trees are covered with green leaves. It smells of mushrooms, ripe, fragrant strawberries.
Birds sing loudly. Orioles whistle, cuckoo, flying from tree to tree, restless cuckoos. Nightingales fill the bushes above the streams.
Animals roam under the trees in the forest. Bears roam, moose graze, cheerful squirrels frolic. A lynx robber is hiding in the dark thicket.
At the very top of the old spruce, in dense branches, goshawks-hawks built a nest. A lot of forest secrets, they see fabulous miracles from a high dark peak.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
summer dawn
The warm summer night is over. The dawn breaks over the forest.
A light mist still hangs over the forest fields. Cool dew covers the leaves of the trees.
The songbirds have already woken up. The cuckoo cuckooed and choked awake.
“Ku-ku! Kuk-kuk-kuk!" - loudly through the forest her cuckooing was heard.
Soon it will rise, the warm sun will dry the dew. Greeting the sun, the birds will sing even louder and the cuckoo will crow. Fog is rising over the meadow.
Here a tired hare is returning from a night fishing.
The little bunny has many enemies. A cunning fox chased him, a terrible owl frightened him, a lynx-robber caught him.
A little bunny left all the enemies.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Owl
Before sunrise, a night robber, an eagle owl, hid in a deep, dark hollow.
Spreading his huge wings, he flew silently over the forest edges all night long, looking out for prey. Even in the darkness of the night, his round evil eyes see well. A lot of animals and gullible birds were caught and eaten by an eared robber.
Afraid of daylight, bright light eagle owl. If birds see an owl during the day, a commotion begins in the forest. Magpies crackle loudly, busy jays scream. Crows and hawks flock to this cry from all sides. Even the smallest forest birds are going to judge and punish the night robber, blinded by the sunny, bright light.
An agile jumping squirrel saw in the hollow of an eared eagle owl, squealed piercingly to the whole forest:
"Robber! The robber lives here!
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
On clearing
The warm sun illuminated the forest clearing.
The night cold dew has dried up.
Calm and quiet in a deaf clearing in the forest. It smells of rosemary, ripe, fragrant strawberries.
An old capercaillie mother led her brood to the edge of the clearing. Like fluffy, soft balls, small wood grouse scattered. They catch midges in the grass, peck at sweet strawberries.
An old capercaillie flew up on a stump. He looks at the sky, then he looks into the forest. Will a goshawk appear, will a cunning fox run, will a nimble ermine flash through the tall grass?
A cautious capercaillie vigilantly guards its brood.
As in a real kindergarten, nimble, little capercaillie run around the forest clearing.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
forest watchmen
The most sensitive and smart bird- crow.
They see everything, they smell everything smart crows - sharp-sighted forest watchmen.
Here, with prey in its teeth, burying itself in the bushes, a wolf ran through the forest. The vigilant crows saw the wolf, circled over the robber, shouted at the top of their raven throat:
"Karrr! Karrr! Beat the robber! Beat the robber!
The wolf heard this cry, pressed his ears, and quickly ran to his lair.
On the shore of a forest lake, crows noticed a fox. Quietly the gossip made her way into the hole. Ruined many bird nests, offended many chicks.
They saw crows and a fox:
"Karrr! Karrr! Catch, catch the robber!
Frightened, hid in dark forest fox. He knows that sensitive forest watchmen will not let her destroy nests, offend little chicks.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Fox
IN pine forest the fox dug a deep hole.
More early spring here, in a hole, blind little fox cubs were born.
Every day the fox leaves for prey, leaves cubs in the hole. The red fox cubs grew up, got stronger, began to emerge from the tight dark hole. It is free to play and frolic in the forest under the trees, somersaulting on soft moss.
Buried behind the trees, the old fox returns with prey.
Hungry fox cubs will greedily attack the prey.
They grow quickly, lively fox cubs eat a lot.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Above a river
On the banks of the river - a pine forest.
The wind blows over the river. Noisy waves splash on the shore. White-haired lambs walk along the waves.
A huge white-tailed eagle soared over the waves. Holds a live, trembling fish in its claws.
Vigilant eagles are able to catch fish. From a great height, they rush to the waves like a stone, tenaciously seizing prey.
In the biggest forests on the tops tall trees eagles make nests. A lot of prey is brought to gluttonous chicks.
Vigilant and strong eagles see far. Under the very clouds they hover on clear days. They can see well where the hare hid in the grass, with his ears flattened, where the fish splashed over the waves, where the cautious capercaillie mother led her brood to the forest clearing.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Lynx and lynx
A lynx stretched out under an old pine tree, basking in the sun.
Quiet in the deep forest. The lynx hears how a hazel grouse flutters from tree to tree, how a titmouse squeaks, swaying on a branch, a forest mouse rustles.
A small fluffy lynx climbed onto the back of a lynx. The old lynx is stretching, purring, playing with a small cheerful lynx.
At night, the lynx leaves for prey. Silently sneaks under the trees, catches birds and careless, timid hares.
No one will dodge the sharp claws of a lynx robber: neither a gaping white hare, nor an old black grouse and a heavy capercaillie, nor a dozing shy hazel grouse.
A lot of harm is done in the forest by an evil lynx robber.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Moose
Evening has come in the forest. The sun has set behind the tops of the trees.
An elk elk grazes on the edge of the swamp with her long-legged clumsy calf.
They ate their fill of juicy grass.
Annoying mosquitoes are ringing over the swamp. Moose fight off mosquitoes, shake their long ears.
To escape from mosquitoes, moose sometimes climb into the water. Neither water, nor large viscous swamps, nor deaf, impassable thickets are not afraid of strong elk.
Moose roam the forest everywhere - they cross swamps, swim across wide rivers and deep forest lakes.
Where people do not offend moose, they trustfully come out of the forest. Often people see moose on the outskirts of villages and cities. It happens that they wander into gardens and suburban parks.
Real hunters protect, do not shoot moose. They admire large, beautiful animals that do no harm to humans.
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
Summer night
It's a warm night in the forest
The moon shines on a clearing surrounded by forest. Night grasshoppers are chirping, nightingales are pouring in the bushes.
Long-legged, nimble corncrakes cry without rest in the tall grass.
“Whoa, whoa! Whoops, whoops! Whoops, whoops!" - from all sides their loud hoarse cry is heard.
Bats fly silently through the air.
At the edge of the path, green lanterns of fireflies lit up here and there.
Quiet in the night forest. A hidden forest brook murmurs a little audibly. The night beauties - violets - fragrantly smell.
Here he hobbled, crunched with a knot, going to fish, a white hare. Casting a light shadow on the clearing, an owl flew by and disappeared.
In the depths of the forest suddenly hooted and laughed, as in a terrible fairy tale, a scarecrow owl.
The eagle owl was frightened, woke up in the nest, a small forest bird squeaked timidly ...
I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov
ant ship
An ant lived in the world. I've been walking all day looking for something. Either he will find a fluff from a dandelion, then a maple leaf, similar to a crow's foot, and he is looking for something else ... But then one day an ant found a golden shell. She lay on the grass among the greenery and shone, shone, like a small golden crown. For a long, long time the ant thought about what to do with it, spit it this way and that. Finally I decided: I'll shake the frog to my friend, I'll ask. And the frog was a well-known joker and sage in the forest. He looked at the shell, tried it on his head, and finally said: - Yes, it's too small for the top of his head, but maybe ... He let the shell into the river.
Kwa, kwa, of course. This is an ant ship. Get in and get on the road. Far countries and beautiful islands are waiting for you.
But what about swimming? The ant sighed.
“They say every ship needs a sail?”
Yes, the frog nodded. - There are beautiful sails made of silk and velvet.
Where can I get such, - the ant shook his head. Neither silk nor velvet grows in the forest.
What about poppy petals? The frog smiled. - This is the best velvet, because it is alive. The ant climbed onto the ship, and the frog handed him a poppy sail. The wind blew, and the ship sailed to distant lands. Quiet waves splashed overboard, and only blue water all around. And suddenly ... a beautiful island. There is a pier on the island, and apparently, invisibly, every people is met with an ant. Who blows the pipes, who beats the drum, and who just dances. “Probably,” thought the ant, “they are meeting someone who is on a real ship with real sails.” Came down and asks:
Who are you meeting?
Yes, you, - some beetle answers.
Why? the ant was surprised. My ship is small. And my sail is not real.
Your sail is beautiful, - the beetle sighed.
Maybe, - said the ant, - but I don't believe you.
Your sail is beautiful, repeated the beetle. Your sail is alive. It smells of forest, honey and the first silver dew.
So, I finally found what I was looking for, - said the ant.
Of course, the beetle replied. You have found what your heart has been waiting for.
G. Tsyferov
Tatyana Bezmenova
"Summer, what are you?" Talk to children about summer. Children's themed drawings
Target. Generalization of children's knowledge about summer.
Tasks.
To teach children to answer with a full answer to questions on the content of plot pictures;
Develop auditory attention fine motor skills fingers, the ability to reflect their impressions in the drawing, the imagination of children;
Introduce children to the signs of summer.
Integration of educational areas.
"Speech development", "Artistic and aesthetic development", " cognitive development”, “Social and communicative development”.
Preliminary work.
Examination of pictures, illustrations in books on summer topics; reading poems about summer.
Material and equipment.
Scene pictures from the series "Summer"; felt-tip pens, album sheets according to the number of children.
The course of the conversation
1. Organizing moment
Guys, I'm going to read you a riddle. Listen to it carefully and tell me what time of year it is?
I am woven from the heat
I carry warmth with me.
I warm the rivers.
"Swim!" - I suggest.
And love for it
You are all of me. I .... (summer)
(children's answers)
That's right, well done. My riddle about summer. Guys, it was not in vain that I started the conversation with a riddle for the summer. Who knows what date is today?
(children's answers)
2. The story of the teacher about the summer.
Summer is one of the four seasons. This time is different high temperature air. The sun is very warm and pleases us with its warmth. Summer is a favorite time not only for children, but also for adults. In summer you can swim, sunbathe, fish, ride a bike and rollerblade. In the forest, with the advent of summer, great changes take place - ants begin to build anthills, spiders weave webs, chicks learn to fly, blossom beautiful flowers, mushrooms and berries grow everywhere. In mid-June, raspberries begin to ripen, which the cubs love very much. And squirrels already in the summer begin to prepare supplies for the winter.
Guys, I know one wonderful poem about summer, listen.
Tell me, children, summer -
What color is it:
green, burgundy,
Or maybe purple?
Summer is very different.
brown, red,
lemon golden,
Like a fluffy cloud
Like a ruddy apple
Like mint for tea spicy.
Cheerful and loud
With boys, with girls.
The rain is cold.
From the sun - very hot,
Happy and bright!
We all need -
It is always a favorite!
Did you like the poem? And also, guys, I know a few folk signs about the phenomena that occur in the summer.
The spider strenuously weaves webs - to dry weather.
The frogs croaked - to bad weather.
Swallows fly low - before the rain.
Strong dew - by a clear day.
Rainbow in the evening - good weather.
Rainbow in the morning - to the rain.
3. Children compiling stories about summer (based on plot pictures)
Guys, I told you about summer, and now I want to show a few pictures where the artist painted summer, everything that you can do in summer. Let's get a look.
(The teacher consistently shows several pictures on a summer theme, gives the children the opportunity to consider each picture)
Guys, now you tell me what summer is like?
(Children's stories about summer)
4. Drawing - "How we imagine summer."
The teacher invites the children to draw the summer as they imagine it. In front of the children, the teacher puts an easel with several pictures with summer scenes, the children draw their impressions and ideas about the summer with felt-tip pens.
5. Bottom line. Exhibition of children's drawings.
The teacher, together with the children, examines the work of the children, evaluates each work, offers to tell what they have drawn.
Stories about summer nature, stories about insects, stories about flowers in summer .
In the living room
The newborn beetle crawled, flew and swarm too much, celebrating the first day of its life. By evening, he was so tired that he could not move his paws or antennae.
He lay in the middle of a yellow flower. The flower was not a cup, but a flat cake and all of narrow petals, soft, soft! He smelled of honey. And he was still warm: the sun had warmed him so much.
And it was already sinking over the hillock. And the sky, which was blue, as if forget-me-nots were blooming on it, only forget-me-nots, turned red, as if poppies were blooming there.
The newborn beetle looked at this fiery huge sky, and he suddenly became afraid. Here it is so small, small, but lies in front of everyone. Hide somewhere in a dark crack! But he was so tired that he could not move his paws or his antennae.
Here in the sky the first star lit up. The newborn beetle started up. He wanted to fly. Fly right up there and circle around that sparkling star. But she was so far away!
Suddenly he felt the flower moving beneath him. The beetle clung to him with its paws stronger.
“Maybe he, the flower, wanted to take off?” thought the beetle. Then he saw that around, from all sides, yellow walls were growing. And they are getting higher and higher.
And the sky - everything is narrower and narrower. Only the star still shines. And now she's gotten smaller. Flashed and faded. And it became dark, very dark and cramped.
“How did this flower suddenly become a lye?” - thought the newborn beetle, falling asleep.
On the second morning of its life, the beetle woke up at the bottom of a dark bag. Tried to climb up the soft wall. But he did not succeed. The paws slipped and fell through between the smooth, narrow leaves. And he again fell to the bottom of the bag. And again tried to climb up. And fell again.
He soon became exhausted. Sadly sat at the bottom of a closed flower. And I thought I'd never see the sun again.
Suddenly he felt the flower move. And at once the light broke through above. Broke through a crack that wasn't there before. And now it was getting wider and wider. And the yellow walls suddenly sank quietly. Here the flower has become a cake again!
And then the beetle saw the sun! It rose from the forest. And when his beam fell on the beetle, the beetle immediately got stronger and cheered up.
- I'm flying! he called to the sun. He spread his wings on the edge of the flower. And he flew off, not knowing where.
N. Pavlova
Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle
The Nightingale sang in the garden. His song was great. He knew that people loved his song, and therefore he looked with pride at the blooming garden, at the bright blue sky, at the little Girl who was sitting in the garden and listening to his song.
And next to the Nightingale flew a large horned Beetle. He flew and buzzed. The nightingale interrupted his song and said with annoyance to the Beetle:
- Stop your buzzing. You don't let me sing. Nobody needs your buzzing, and in general, it would be better if you, Beetle, were not there at all.
The beetle answered with dignity:
- No, Nightingale, without me, Beetle, the world is also impossible, just like without you, Nightingale.
- That's wisdom! Nightingale laughed. “So people need you too?” Let's ask the Girl, she will tell you who people need and who is not needed.
The Nightingale and the Beetle flew to the Girl, they ask:
- Tell me, Girl, who should be left in the world - the Nightingale or the Beetle?
“Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle,” answered the Girl. - And after thinking, she added: - How is it possible without the Beetle?
V. Sukhomlinsky
Butterfly and mosquito
Once a butterfly flew to the roof of the barnyard and sat there on a perch. Then a mosquito saw her, he hid here, in the gap of the fence. I saw it and got angry.
A mosquito flew up to a butterfly, sat down next to it and said:
- Why did you come here? This yard is my domain!
But the butterfly was not at a loss:
- So after all, I didn’t fly into the yard, we are on the roof.
- Not food! And then I'll break your neck! the mosquito screamed. And the butterfly laughed in response:
“If only I have the strength…”
- I'll show you! I will pierce your skin with my stinger and suck out all the blood.
- I don't believe you! said the butterfly on purpose to irritate the mosquito.
Well, prove...
And the mosquito flew to the calf, which was standing nearby on a leash. He sat down on his ear and launched a sting.
And then the calf began to itch with its hind leg and crushed the mosquito, which did not have time to release its sting from thick wool.
Kazakh fairy tale
Ant measure
Many centuries ago, a sage lived in the world. He knew the language of birds, beasts and all other creatures.
One day the sage went on a journey. Halfway through he made a halt to rest his horse. A man sits and sees that an ant is dragging a grain. He took the ant and placed it in his palm.
- Tell me, ant, where are you taking this grain? he asks.
“To the anthill,” the ant answered him.
- Why do you need it?
“I’ll keep it in reserve,” says the ant.
“And how much grain have you stocked?” the sage asked.
The ant told the man that he had been working all summer, preparing for winter, and therefore met her without fear.
The sage looked at the ant from all sides, was surprised:
Why is your head so big?
I don't talk much and think a lot.
Why are you so thin in the waist?
- I don't overeat.
How many grains do you eat in a year?
- one grain
- And you are satisfied with this?
“If I ate more, what would the other ants eat then?” There must be a measure in everything.
The sage liked the mind and insight of the ant, and he decided to test it. He put one grain in a box and planted an ant in it. The box was placed in a dry, sheltered place.
- I'll be back in a year. You are provided with food for a year, lie down and do not worry about anything, ”he said to the ant.
The sage wanted to make sure that the ant would be able to manage the supply of food left for him.
Exactly one year later, he returned to the ant. I found a box left in a secluded place. I opened it to see if the ant was alive. The ant was safe and sound. There was a half grain next to him. The sage was amazed.
“Hey, ant,” he said to his prisoner. You said you eat one grain a year. Why did you leave half a seed? Why did you save her?
The ant replied:
— You're right, I said that I eat one grain a year. But you left me locked in a box. I couldn't get out. If you had forgotten your promise to return in a year and free me, then I would have remained in my dungeon for a long time. If I had eaten the whole grain, I would have condemned myself to starvation. I thought about it and moderated my appetite.
The sage was amazed at the patience and moderation of the ant, his ability to be content with little. He regretted that he had committed violence - caused suffering to a reasonable and worthy being.
“I did badly, forgive me,” he said to the ant and let him go.
Since then, the sage taught people moderation and patience.
Kazakh fairy tale
Ant
One ant, leaving his anthill, began to make friends with bees, beetles and other living creatures, of which there were a great many in the district.
Once, going out in search of food, an ant found a grain on the road. He groaned, puffed, but the grain could not budge. The ant rushed to ask for help from his winged friends. The first he came across was a bee, she flew from flower to flower, collecting nectar.
“Bee, bee, I found a grain, but I can’t pick it up alone, help me, please,” the ant asks her.
"Can't you see that I'm not sitting idle either!" - said the bee and flew away.
The ant had no choice but to move on. He came across a beetle.
- A beetle, a beetle! - he began and, having told about his find, he began to ask for help.
"Do I have to quit my job for you?" - the beetle got angry and, buzzing, flew away.
Having lost hope for friends, the saddened ant wandered back and soon stumbled upon his anthill. Seeing how sad he was, the ants asked him:
- Why are you sad?
The lone ant answered them:
- It turns out that I myself am to blame for my orphanhood!
The ants calmed him, lifted and carried the grain. Here our ant joined them.
- No wonder they say: old friend better than two new ones,” said one wise ant then.
Kazakh fairy tale
Where is her home?
The butterfly sat on the flower, and the flower leaned over. The butterfly swung along with the flower to the left, then to the right. Butterfly swings on a flower, like on a swing. She either lowers her long, thin, curved proboscis into the flower, then takes it out.
Ten stamens lined up in a circle. Pollen from the stamens showers the butterfly from all sides, and from this the head of the butterfly, and the abdomen, and paws become yellow.
Flowers are different. Butterflies love flowers with petals open in all directions, so that they can sit on a flower and see what is happening around. And there are flowers that have porches and a roof. You sit on the porch, you need to stick your head under the roof, and the wings remain outside. It’s good for a bee: it’s small - everything fits under the roof. It is not visible from the outside, only you can hear the flower buzzing.
Sometimes tiny agitated thrips crawl between the petals in the flowers. There are so many of them that wherever the butterfly's proboscis lowers, it stumbles upon them everywhere. And you can’t get away from these thrips, because in a flower they are full owners - this is their home. Where is the butterfly's house?
Hot. Midges swarm in the sunbeam. A whole bunch of midges. Butterfly does not go around them. She flies straight "to the cloud." It cuts right through it. And behind the butterfly is already a whole train of midges. The midges fly after the butterfly, trying to catch up with it, but in vain. Butterflies fly faster than midges.
Having flown over a wide road, the butterfly finds itself over a narrow path leading into the bushes. Here is a shadow. It's not so hot here. Butterfly flies over the path between the bushes. Closer and closer close the bushes over the path. And lower and lower the butterfly has to fly. Here the branches at the top have already completely closed and covered the sky. And suddenly the butterfly from all over stumbles upon some kind of thin sticky barrier. Her wings beat convulsively on the web. The web becomes shiny, sparkling from the scales that fall from the butterfly's wings. And the wings are made completely transparent, like glass.
Above the butterfly in the right corner, a huge cross spider. He is waiting. Waiting for the butterfly to get completely confused. But the butterfly suddenly frees its wings from the web and hangs on two hind legs. Another tug and she's up in the air. Her hind legs remain on the web.
Glade. There are many yellow flowers in the meadow. Butterflies fly over the flowers. There are a lot of them too. They sit on one flower, then on another. Sitting on a flower, butterflies unwind their proboscises, which, when flying, are folded into a spiral. Unwound and lowered into a flower. Butterflies drink nectar and carry pollen from flower to flower. Lots of flowers in the field. They all opened their petals, they all stretched out their stamens, they are all waiting for butterflies.
Spruce, pine, birch. No, it's not all that. And here is the field. And on the field - cabbage. Big, tight, cracked with juice. A man would pick such a head of cabbage and take it to his children. But the butterfly does not like this head of cabbage for her children. It is not sweet enough for butterfly children, not juicy enough. A butterfly flies from one head of cabbage to another, tries the cabbage with its front paws. The front paws of a butterfly feel the taste. And not just feel, but feel in the subtlest way. A butterfly's taste is two hundred, three hundred times stronger than that of a human. For a long time the butterfly will fly over the field, for a long time it will choose cabbage, the sweetest, most delicious. And when he chooses, he will sit on the lower green leaf and lay yellow, large, ribbed eggs.
The wind rustled through the trees. The leaves are green, and the rustle is soft, barely audible. And here on the branch are two dry leaves. Like paper dry. But they are so small and, in addition, still torn. So you won't make any noise here. Yes, it's not a leaf. These are the dried wings of a dead butterfly.
The butterfly died right on the branch, clinging to it with its paws. So she sits tight. Dead. Strong wind pulled a branch and plucked a butterfly. Another butterfly in the air! She's flying again! Only now there are winged seeds in the air next to her. These seeds have wings as lifeless as those of a dead butterfly.
The butterfly did not have a home. Every hollow, every comfortable twig, every silken blade of grass, every fragrant flower was her home. And why does this butterfly need a home if it lives only sixteen days. And if in sixteen days you need to know the world.
According to N. Romanova
How the sky was going to visit the earth
The sky never went to visit the Earth, but he so wanted it. From above, it looked at the seas, rivers, fields, meadows, forests, people: it liked all this very much. The sky noticed that people often look at it, but did not know if they liked it.
The Sky began to preen in order to please the Earth and its inhabitants. She sewed a blue dress for herself, decorated it with lace from the Clouds, instead of a crown she put on a solar hoop, instead of a belt she girded herself with a seven-color Rainbow.
- Oh, what today beautiful sky! - people admired, - they would have watched without looking away. I wish I could turn into birds and fly in such a sky!
Heaven rejoiced, began to try even harder. It sewed a black velvet dress for itself, scattered silver Stars over its skirt, pinned the yellow-eyed Moon on its chest, and placed a clear Moon on its head. Admire the sky quiet rivers, night birds, fireflies turned on their lights to get a better look at it. The night sky was regal, solemn. The stars in the darkness twinkled and beckoned to themselves, the yellow Moon winked with one eye, illuminating the moon path on the river, and the Moon, the son of the Moon, danced with pride for the Sky.
Morning has come, and Heaven has a new dress again! Sunrise illuminated the snow-white clouds in pink. The sun rose higher and the sky became more beautiful. All the plants, animals and people who woke up with the Sun rejoiced.
“Take us to you, Heaven!” they asked, “we love you!” Stay always as beautiful!
Birds and insects rushed up to admire the Sky above. People ascended to Heaven on planes, helicopters, hang gliders and balloons. They so wanted to touch the sky with their hands, to touch his pink dress!
But then black clouds began to gather. They covered all the beautiful dress of Heaven with mud. It got very upset.
“Everyone will turn their backs on me now!” Sky thought, something must be done urgently.
The sky took out a huge electric lightning needle and threw it into the cloud to disperse it. The cloud, frightened, screamed so loudly that Thunder heard it and answered it, roaring menacingly. From fright, the Cloud began to cry, it melted before our eyes, and very soon the dirty dress of Heaven again became clean, but already blue.
The sky fell in love with all the inhabitants of the Earth. Finally, it came to visit the Earth, but this was possible only on the horizon.
E. Alyabyeva
July Medicinal Plants
Wormwood is often mentioned in old songs about hard times. This is understandable, because you can not find herbs bitterer than her. No wonder there is a saying: "Bitter as wormwood."
Wormwood is one of the oldest medicinal plants. IN folk medicine it is used very widely. Wormwood tincture - good remedy to improve digestion, expel worms from the human body.
Common yarrow is often found in meadows and forest edges. Look at its leaf, and it will immediately become clear to you where this name of the plant came from. Each leaf is meticulously cut into small slices, and each slice also has openwork edges.
Yarrow is one of the oldest medicinal plants. Man has long noticed this herb, which turned out to be useful in the treatment of wounds, bleeding, with gastrointestinal diseases, to increase appetite.
Yarrow may be of interest to vegetable growers and gardeners: a decoction and infusion from it is used against sucking pests instead of some pesticides.
Yarrow relieves cultivated plants from various pests (aphids, suckers, thrips, as well as spider mites).
Yarrow is harvested in July, at the time of flowering, and this herbaceous plant is dried, but without roots. Decoctions and infusions are prepared from dry plants.
Go out on a sunny lawn in the summertime, and you will surely meet cheerful, golden flowers of St. John's wort. folk wisdom talks about it medicinal plant“Just as you can’t bake bread without flour, you can’t cure a person without St. John’s wort.” And they also call St. John's wort herb from ninety-nine diseases.
Scientists from St. John's wort received a wonderful drug (imanin), with the help of which they treat wounds, ulcers, burns, and the drug helps plants, saving them from pests (tobacco mosaic that affects tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, tobacco).
Infusion, tincture and extract from St. John's wort have astringent and antimicrobial properties. Pharmacy tincture of St. John's wort is an excellent tool for strengthening the gums, eliminating bad breath.
The stems, leaves and flowers of St. John's wort are also used to obtain vegetable dye for dyeing fabrics.
All parts of the plant contain tannins, which are used to tan the skin, giving it density and elasticity.
B. Alexandrov
How Sasha was burned by nettles
The boys went out for a walk. They ran across the yard. And it's warm and sunny outside! Sasha saw green grass near the fence and called everyone:
“Look how grass has grown!”
And Vera Ivanovna says:
- Don't touch it, it's nettles: you'll get burned.
Sasha did not listen: is the grass a stove? Does she sting?
He grabbed a nettle and screamed:
Oh, it hurts!
Sasha's hand turned red, white blisters went over it. Vera Ivanovna had to console him. The good news is that nettle blisters go away quickly.
