Short stories about winter. The story “About trees in winter.” What is a natural phenomenon

Mikhail Prishvin “Birds under the snow”

The hazel grouse has two salvations in the snow: the first is to sleep warmly under the snow, and the second is that the snow drags with it to the ground from the trees various seeds for the hazel grouse to eat.

Under the snow, the hazel grouse looks for seeds, makes passages there and opens upward for air.

Sometimes you go skiing in the forest, you look - a head appears and hides: it’s a hazel grouse.

There are not even two, but three salvations for a hazel grouse under the snow: warmth, food, and you can hide from a hawk.

The black grouse does not run under the snow, it just needs to hide from the bad weather.

Grouse do not have large passages, like hazel grouse under the snow, but the arrangement of the apartment is also neat: in the back there is a latrine, in front there is a hole above the head for air.

Our gray partridge does not like to burrow in the snow and flies to the village to spend the night on the threshing floor. A partridge spends the night in the village with the men and in the morning flies to the same place to feed. The partridge, according to my signs, has either lost its wildness, or is naturally stupid. The hawk notices her flights, and sometimes she is just about to fly out, and the hawk is already waiting for her on the tree.

The black grouse, I think, is much smarter than the partridge.

Once it happened to me in the forest. I'm going skiing; Red day, good frost. A large clearing opens up in front of me, in the clearing there are tall birches, and on the birches black grouse feed on buds. I admired it for a long time, but suddenly all the black grouse rushed down and buried themselves in the snow under the birches. At the same moment, a hawk appeared, hit the place where the black grouse had buried itself, and entered. But he walks right above the black grouse, but he can’t figure out how to dig with his foot and grab it. I was very curious about this, I thought: “If he walks, it means he feels them under him, and the hawk has a great mind, but he doesn’t have enough to guess and dig with his paw an inch or two in the snow, which means it’s not for him.” given."

He walks and walks.

I wanted to help the black grouse, and I began to steal the hawk.

The snow is soft, the ski does not make any noise, but as soon as I started to go around the clearing with bushes, I suddenly fell into the juniper up to my ear. I climbed out of the hole, of course, not without noise and thought: “The hawk heard this and flew away.” I got out and don’t even think about the hawk, and when I drove around the clearing and looked out from behind a tree, a hawk right in front of me was walking for a short shot at the black grouse overhead.

I fired. He lay down. And the black grouse were so frightened by the hawk that they weren’t even afraid of a shot.

I approached them, swung my ski, and one after another they began to fly out from under the snow; whoever has never seen it will die.

I’ve seen a lot of things in the forest, it’s all simple for me, but I’m still amazed at the hawk: so smart, but in this place he turned out to be such a fool. But I think the partridge is the stupidest of all.

She got spoiled among people on the threshing floors, she doesn’t have, like a black grouse, so that when she sees a hawk, she can rush into the snow with all her might.

The partridge will only hide its head in the snow from the hawk, but its entire tail will be visible.

The hawk takes her by the tail and drags her like a cook in a frying pan.

Mikhail Prishvin "Ants"

I was tired from fox hunting and wanted to rest somewhere.

But the forest was covered with deep snow, and there was nowhere to sit. By chance my gaze fell on a tree, around which there was a giant anthill covered with snow.

I climb up, throw off the snow, rake from above this amazing ant collection of needles, twigs, forest debris and sit down in a warm hole in the anthill. The ants, of course, know nothing about this: they sleep deep below.

Somewhat higher than the anthill where I was resting this time, someone tore the bark off a tree, and the white wood, a rather wide ring, was covered with a thick layer of resin. The ring stopped the movement of juices, and the tree would inevitably die. It happens that a woodpecker makes such rings on trees, but he cannot do it so cleanly.

Most likely, I thought, someone needed the bark to make a box for collecting wild berries.

Having rested well on the anthill, I left and returned by chance to it when it became quite warm and the ants woke up and went upstairs.

I saw some dark spot on the light, wounded, resinous ring of the tree and took out my binoculars to take a closer look. It turned out that they were ants: for some reason they needed to break through the resin-coated wood upward.

You need to watch for a long time to understand the ant's business; Many times I have observed in the forests that ants are constantly running along the tree against which the anthill is leaning, but I did not pay attention to it: is an ant such a big thing that I can persistently figure out where and why it is running or climbing a tree! But now it turned out that not just individual ants for some reason, but all ants needed this free path up the trunk from the bottom floor of the tree, perhaps to the highest. The resinous ring was an obstacle, and this brought the entire anthill to its feet.

Today, a general mobilization was announced in the anthill.

The entire anthill climbed up, and the entire state, in its entirety, gathered in a heavy, moving layer around the tarred ring.

Scout ants walked ahead.

They tried to make their way up and one by one they got stuck and died in the tar.

The next scout used the corpse of his comrade to advance forward.

In turn, it became a bridge for the next scout.

The offensive proceeded in a wide, deployed formation, and before our eyes white ring it darkened and became covered with black: the leading ants selflessly threw themselves into the resin and with their bodies paved the way for others.

So, in just half an hour, the ants blackened the resinous ring and ran freely up this concrete to do their business. One stripe of Ants ran up, the other down, back and forth. And work began on this living bridge, like on bark.

Konstantin Ushinsky “The Mischief of the Old Woman-Winter”

The old woman-winter got angry, she decided to squeeze every breath from the light.

First of all, she began to get to the birds: she was tired of them with their screaming and squeaking.

Winter blew cold, tore leaves from forests and oak forests and scattered them along the roads. There is nowhere for the birds to go; They began to gather in flocks and think little thoughts. They gathered, shouted and flew for high mountains, behind blue seas, V warm countries. The sparrow remained, and it hid under the eagles.

Winter sees that it cannot catch up with the birds: it attacked the animals. She covered the fields with snow, filled the forests with snowdrifts, covered the trees with icy bark and sent frost after frost. The frosts are getting fiercer than the other, jumping from tree to tree, crackling and clicking, scaring the animals. The animals were not afraid: some had warm fur coats, others hid in deep holes; a squirrel in a hollow is gnawing nuts, a bear in a den is sucking a paw; The little bunny is jumping and warming himself, and the horses, cows, and sheep have long been chewing ready-made hay in warm barns and drinking warm swill.

Winter is even more angry - it gets to the fish: it sends frost after frost, one more severe than the other.

Frosts run briskly, tapping loudly with hammers: without wedges, without wedges, they build bridges across lakes and rivers. The rivers and lakes froze, but only from above, but the fish all went deeper into the depths: they are even warmer under the icy roof.

“Well, wait,” winter thinks, “I’ll catch people, and it sends frost after frost, each one angrier than the other.”

The frosts covered the windows with patterns; They knock on the walls and on the doors, so that the logs burst. And people lit the stoves, baked hot pancakes and laughed at winter. If someone goes to the forest for firewood, he will put on a sheepskin coat, felt boots, warm mittens, and when he starts swinging an ax, he will even break out in a sweat. Along the roads, as if to laugh at the winter, the carts pulled out: the horses were steaming, the cab drivers were stamping their feet, clapping their mittens. They shrug their shoulders, the frosty people praise.

The most offensive thing about winter seemed to be that even small children were not afraid of it! They go skating and sledding, play in the snow, make women, build mountains, water them, and even call out to the frost: “Come help!”

Out of anger, winter will pinch one boy by the ear, another by the nose, they will even turn white, and the boy will grab the snow, let’s rub it - and his face will flare up like fire.

Winter sees that she can’t take anything, and she starts crying with anger. Winter tears began to fall from the eaves... apparently spring is not far away!

Konstantin Ushinsky “Four Wishes”

Mitya went sledding with ice mountain and on skates on the frozen river, he ran home, rosy-cheeked, cheerful and said to his father: “How fun it is in winter!” I wish it were all winter.

“Write your wish in my pocket book,” said the father.

Mitya wrote it down.

Spring came.

Mitya ran to his heart’s content in the green meadow for colorful butterflies, picked flowers, ran to his father and said:

- What a beauty this spring is! I wish it were still spring.

The father again took out the book and ordered Mitya to write down his wish.

Summer has come.

Mitya and his father went to haymaking.

The boy had fun all long day: he fished, picked berries, tumbled in the fragrant hay, and in the evening he said to his father:

- I had a lot of fun today! I wish there was no end to summer.

And this desire of Mitya was written down in the same book.

Autumn has come.

Fruits were collected in the garden - rosy apples and yellow pears.

Mitya was delighted and said to his father:

— Autumn is the best time of the year!

Then the father took out his notebook and showed the boy that he had said the same thing about spring, and winter, and summer.

Georgy Skrebitsky “White Fur Coat”

That winter there was no snow for a long time. The rivers and lakes have long been covered with ice, but there is still no snow.

A winter forest without snow seemed gloomy and dull. All the leaves have long fallen from the trees, migratory birds flew south, not a single bird squeaked anywhere; only cold wind whistles among the bare, icy branches.

Once I was walking through the forest with the guys, we were returning from a neighboring village. We went out into a forest clearing.

Suddenly we see crows circling in the middle of a clearing above a large bush. They croak, fly around him, then fly up, then sit on the ground. I guess they probably found some food there.

They began to come closer. The crows noticed us - some flew away and settled in the trees, while others didn’t want to fly away, so they circled overhead.

We approached the bush, we looked - something was white under it, but we couldn’t make out what through the dense branches.

I opened the branches and saw a hare, as white as snow.

Huddled under the bush, pressed to the ground, lying there and not moving.

Everything around is gray - both the earth and the fallen leaves, and the hare among them turns white.

That’s why he caught the eye of the crows - he was dressed in a white fur coat, but there was no snow, which means he, the white one, had nowhere to hide. Let's try to catch him alive!

I stuck my hand under the branches, quietly, carefully, and immediately grabbed my ears - and pulled me out from under the bush!

The hare is struggling in his hands, trying to escape. Just look - one of his legs is dangling strangely. They touched her, but she was broken! This means that the crows beat him up a lot. If we hadn’t arrived on time, we probably would have completely scored.

I brought the hare home. Dad took a bandage and cotton wool from the first aid kit, bandaged the hare's broken leg and put it in a box.

Mom put hay and carrots there and a bowl of water. So our bunny stayed to live.

I lived for a whole month. His leg was completely grown together, he even started jumping out of the box and wasn’t afraid of me at all. He’ll jump out, run around the room, and when one of the guys comes in, he’ll hide under the bed.

While the hare lived at our house, the snow fell, white, fluffy, like a hare’s fur coat. It is easy for a hare to hide in it. You won't notice it soon in the snow.

“Well, now we can release him back into the forest,” dad told us one day.

That's what we did - we took the hare to the nearest forest, said goodbye to him and released him into the wild.

The morning was quiet; the night before there had been a lot of snow. The forest became white and shaggy.

In an instant, our little bunny disappeared in the snowy bushes.

That's when his white fur coat came in handy!

Stories about winter for primary schoolchildren. You can read these stories to children aged 4 years and older. These are instructive stories and tales about the winter forest, foxes, bunnies, etc. These are stories and tales about good and evil.

What can a snowdrift tell you?

Winter is coming to an end. Do you want to remember what it was like: how often there were snowstorms, how the cold was replaced by thaws?

Take a shovel and cut the snowdrift in half. It is all striped, layered: a gray layer, then a white layer, white and gray, gray and white.

What can the white layer tell you? About the sky from which snowflakes fell. The more of them fell, the thicker the white layer will be.

What will the gray layer tell you? The fact that the old snow had become contaminated, but new, clean snow had not fallen for a long time.

And the icy crust across the snowdrift? What will she tell you about? About the thaw.

What about a branch with dry leaves that is firmly frozen into a snowdrift? About the storm that tore it from the tree.

This is how the snowdrift kept a record of the weather all winter, and it will tell you everything, just know how to ask it.

Hurry up and ask in time before he melts!

Old man one year old.

A fairy tale-mystery.

The one-year old man came out. He began to wave his sleeve and let the birds fly. Each bird has its own special name. The old one-year-old waved for the first time - and the first three birds flew away. There was a whiff of cold and frost.

The old man waved a second time - and the second troika flew off. The snow began to melt, flowers appeared in the fields.

The old man waved a third time - the third troika flew. It became hot, stuffy, sultry. The peasants began to reap rye.

The old one-year-old waved for the fourth time, and three more birds flew. A cold wind blew, frequent rain fell, and fog settled in.

But the birds were not ordinary. Each bird has four wings. Each wing has seven feathers, each feather also with its own name. One half of the feather is white, the other is black. A bird flaps once and it becomes light-light; if it flaps again, it becomes dark-dark.

Songs under the ice.

It happened in winter: my skis started singing! I was skiing across the lake, and the skis were singing. They sang well, like birds.

And there is snow and frost all around. Nostrils stick together and teeth freeze.

The forest is silent, the lake is silent. The roosters in the village are silent. And the skis sing!

And their song is like a stream, it flows and rings. But it’s not the skis that really sing, even the wooden ones. Someone is singing under the ice, right under my feet.

If I had left then, the under-ice song would have remained a wonderful forest mystery. But I didn't leave...

I lay down on the ice and hung my head into the black hole.

Over the winter, the water in the lake dried out, and the ice hung over the water like an azure ceiling. Where it hung, and where it collapsed, and steam curled up from the dark holes. But it’s not the fish that sing there with bird voices, is it? Maybe there really is a stream there? Or maybe icicles born from steam are ringing?

And the song rings. It is alive and clean, something neither a stream, nor fish, nor icicles can sing like.

Only one creature in the world can sing like this - a bird...

I hit the ice with my ski and the song stopped. I stood quietly - the song began to ring again.

Then I hit the ice with my ski as hard as I could. And now a miracle bird flew out of the dark hole. She sat down on the edge of the hole and bowed to me three times.

- Hello, ice songster!

The bird nodded again and sang an ice song in plain sight.

- But I know you! - I said. - You dipper - a water sparrow!

Dipper did not answer: he only knew how to bow and nod. Again he slipped under the ice, and his song thundered from there. So what if it's winter? Under the ice there is no wind, no frost, no hawk. Under the ice black water and a mysterious green twilight. There, if you whistle louder, everything will ring: the echo will rush, hitting the icy ceiling, hung with ringing icicles. Why shouldn't the dipper sing?

Why shouldn't we listen to him?

Bureau of Forest Services.

Cold February arrived in the forest. He made snowdrifts on the bushes and covered the trees with frost. And although the sun is shining, it is not warming.

Ferret says:

- Save yourself as best you can!

And Magpie chirps:

-Everyone for himself again? Alone again? No, everyone should unite against a common misfortune! So everyone says about us that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even a shame...

Here the Hare got involved:

- That's right, the Magpie is chirping. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau of Forest Services. For example, I can help partridges. Every day I tear the snow on the winter fields to the ground, let them peck the seeds and greens there after me - I don’t mind. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau as number one!

- There is still a smart head in our forest! - Soroka was happy. - Who is next?

- We're next! - the crossbills shouted. “We peel the cones on the trees and drop half of the cones whole.” Use it, voles and mice, don’t mind!

“The hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” wrote Magpie.

- Who is next?

“Sign us up,” the beavers grumbled from their hut. “We piled so many aspen trees in the fall—there’s enough for everyone.” Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, gnaw on the juicy aspen bark and branches!

And it went, and it went!

Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite them to carrion, crows promise to show them their dumps. Soroka barely has time to write down.

The Wolf also trotted out at the noise. He straightened his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:

- Sign me up for the Bureau too!

- Are you, Volka, at the Service Bureau? What do you want to do in it?

“I will serve as a watchman,” answers the Wolf.

-Who can you guard?

- I can guard everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near the aspen trees, partridges in the greens, beavers in the huts. I'm an experienced watchman. He guarded the sheep in the sheepfold, the chickens in the chicken coop...

- You are a robber from a forest road, not a watchman! - Magpie shouted. - Come on, come on, pass by! We know you. It’s me, Soroka, who will guard everyone in the forest from you: when I see you, I’ll raise a cry! I will write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” Am I worse than others, or what?

This is how bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But it happens, and they help each other out.

Anything can happen in the forest.

Forest thaw.

Oh, what a soft, warm thaw it was!.. Snowflakes were swirling, and the forest smelled of spring. The hedgehog sat on the porch of his house, sniffed the air and smiled.

“It can’t be,” he thought, “that just yesterday the trees were cracking in the forest and the angry Santa Claus was creaking under the windows with his large felt boots, but today he’s not there at all! Where is he?"

And the Hedgehog began to wonder where Santa Claus could hide.

“If he climbed a pine tree,” the Hedgehog reasoned, “then somewhere under the pine tree there are his big felt boots. After all, even Little Bear can’t climb a pine tree in felt boots!

If he climbed under the ice,” Hedgehog continued to think, “then somewhere on the river there must be a hole and steam must come from it. Because Santa Claus sits in felt boots at the bottom and breathes. And if he completely left the forest, I will definitely see his traces!”

And the Hedgehog put on his skis and ran between the trees. But there were no felt boots under any tree, he did not see a single hole in the river and did not find any traces anywhere.

- Father Frost! - Hedgehog shouted. - Call me back!..

But it was quiet. Only snowflakes were spinning around and somewhere far, far away a Woodpecker was knocking.

The hedgehog stopped, closed his eyes and imagined a beautiful Woodpecker with red feathers and a long nose. A woodpecker was sitting on the top of a pine tree, from time to time he threw his head back, squinted and, as if angry, knocked with his nose: knock! Pine bark splashed and, rustling softly, fell into the snow...

“Probably the Woodpecker knows where Santa Claus is,” thought the Hedgehog. “He sits high and can see everything.”

And he ran to the Woodpecker.

- Woodpecker! - Hedgehog shouted from afar. -Have you seen Santa Claus?

- Knock Knock! - said Woodpecker. - He left!

- Where are his traces?

The Woodpecker hung his nose towards the Hedgehog, squinted, looked at him and said:

- And he left without a trace!

- How? - Hedgehog was surprised.

- It’s very simple! A cloud arrived and sank low. Santa Claus first threw felt boots on him, then he climbed in and swam away...

- Where? - asked the Hedgehog.

- To Kudykina Mountain. Knock Knock! - said Woodpecker.

And the Hedgehog, reassured, went home and along the road imagined the snow-covered Kudykina Mountain, on which Santa Claus was probably walking now and creaking his large felt boots.

G. Skrebitsky “Four Artists. Winter"

The fields and hills turned white. Thin ice the river covered itself, became silent, and fell asleep, like in a fairy tale.

Winter walks through the mountains, through the valleys, wearing large, soft felt boots, stepping quietly, inaudibly. And she herself looks around - here and there she will correct her magical picture.

Here is a hillock in the middle of a field. The prankish wind took it and blew his white cap off. I need to put it on again. And over there a gray hare is sneaking between the bushes. It’s bad for him, the gray one: in the white snow he will be immediately noticed beast of prey or a bird, you can’t hide from them anywhere.

“I’ll dress the slanted one in a white fur coat,” Winter decided, “then you won’t soon notice him in the snow.”

But Lisa Patrikeevna has no need to dress in white. She lives in a deep hole, hiding underground from enemies. She just needs to be dressed up more beautifully and warmly.

Winter had prepared a wonderful fur coat for her, it was simply marvelous: all bright red, like a fire! The fox will move its fluffy tail to the side, as if scattering sparks across the snow.

Winter looked into the forest: “I’ll decorate it: as soon as the sun looks, it will fall in love.”

She dressed the pines and fir trees in heavy snow coats: she pulled snow caps down to her very eyebrows; I put downy mittens on the branches. The forest heroes stand next to each other, stand decorously, calmly.

And below them, like children, various bushes and young trees took refuge. Winter also dressed them in white fur coats.

And she threw a white blanket over the mountain ash that grows at the edge of the forest. It worked out so well. At the ends of the branches, clusters of berries hang, like red earrings visible from under a white blanket.

Under the trees, Winter painted all the snow with a pattern of different footprints and footprints. Here is a hare's footprint: in front there are two large paw prints next to each other, and behind - one after the other - two small ones; and the fox one - as if drawn by a thread: paw into paw, so it stretches in a chain...

The winter forest lives. Snowy fields and valleys live. The whole picture of the sorceress Winter lives on. You can show it to Sunny too.

The sun parted the blue cloud. Looks at the winter forest, at the valleys. And under her gaze everything around becomes even more beautiful.

The snow flared up and glowed. Blue, red, green lights lit up on the ground, on the bushes, on the trees. And the breeze blew, shook off the frost from the branches, and multi-colored lights also sparkled and danced in the air.

It turned out to be a wonderful picture! Perhaps you couldn’t draw it better.

K. Paustovsky “Warm Bread”

(excerpt)

On one of these warm gray days, a wounded horse knocked with its muzzle on the gate of Filka’s grandmother. Grandma was not at home, and Filka was sitting at the table and chewing a piece of bread, sprinkled with salt.

Filka reluctantly stood up and went out the gate. The horse shifted from foot to foot and reached for the bread. "Yah you! Devil!" - Filka shouted and hit the horse in the mouth with a backhand. The horse stumbled back, shook its head, and Filka threw the bread far into the loose snow and shouted:

- You can’t get enough of you, Christ-fathers! There's your bread! Go dig it out from under the snow with your snout! Go dig!

And after this malicious shout, those amazing things happened in Berezhki, which people still talk about now, shaking their heads, because they themselves don’t know whether it happened or nothing like that happened.

A tear rolled down from the horse's eyes. The horse neighed pitifully, protractedly, waved his tail, and immediately a piercing wind howled and whistled in the bare trees, in the hedges and chimneys, the snow blew up, and powdered Filka’s throat. Filka rushed back into the house, but could not find the porch - the snow was already so shallow all around and it was getting in his eyes. Frozen straw from the roofs flew in the wind, birdhouses broke, torn shutters slammed. And columns of snow dust rose higher and higher from the surrounding fields, rushing towards the village, rustling, spinning, overtaking each other.

Filka finally jumped into the hut, locked the door, and said: “Fuck you!” - and listened. The blizzard roared madly, but through its roar Filka heard a thin and short whistle - the way a horse's tail whistles when an angry horse hits its sides with it.

The snowstorm began to subside in the evening, and only then was Filka’s grandmother able to get to her hut from her neighbor. And by night the sky turned green like ice, the stars froze to the vault of heaven, and a prickly frost passed through the village. No one saw him, but everyone heard the creak of his felt boots on the hard snow, heard how the frost, mischievously, squeezed the thick logs in the walls and they cracked and burst.

The grandmother, crying, told Filka that the wells had probably already frozen and now inevitable death awaited them. There is no water, everyone has run out of flour, and the mill will now not be able to work, because the river has frozen to the very bottom.

Filka also began to cry with fear when the mice began to run out of the underground and bury themselves under the stove in the straw, where there was still some warmth left. "Yah you! Damned! - he shouted at the mice, but the mice kept climbing out of the underground. Filka climbed onto the stove, covered himself with a sheepskin coat, shook all over and listened to the grandmother’s lamentations.

“A hundred years ago such a bitter frost fell on our area,” said the grandmother. — I froze wells, killed birds, dried forests and gardens to the roots. Ten years after that, neither trees nor grass bloomed. The seeds in the ground withered and disappeared. Our land stood naked. Every animal ran around it - they were afraid of the desert.

- Why did that frost happen? - Filka asked.

“From human malice,” answered the grandmother. “An old soldier walked through our village and asked for bread in a hut, and the owner, an angry man, sleepy, loud, took it and gave only one stale crust. And he didn’t give it to him, but threw him on the floor and said: “Here you go!” Chew! “It’s impossible for me to pick up bread from the floor,” says the soldier. “I have a piece of wood instead of a leg.” - “Where did you put your leg?” - asks the man. “I lost my leg in the Balkan Mountains in a Turkish battle,” the soldier answers. "Nothing. “If you’re so hungry, you’ll get up,” the man laughed. “There are no valets for you here.” The soldier grunted, contrived, lifted the crust and saw that it was not bread, but just green mold. One poison! Then the soldier went out into the yard, whistled - and suddenly a snowstorm broke out, a blizzard, the storm swirled around the village, tore off the roofs, and then a severe frost hit. And the man died.

- Why did he die? - Filka asked hoarsely.

“From a cooling of the heart,” the grandmother answered, paused and added: “You know, even now a bad person has appeared in Berezhki, an offender, and has done an evil deed.” That's why it's cold.

- What should we do now, grandma? - Filka asked from under his sheepskin coat. - Should I really die?

- Why die? We must hope.

- For what?

- The fact that a bad person will correct his villainy.

- How can I fix it? - Filka asked, sobbing.

- And Pankrat knows about this, miller. He is a cunning old man, a scientist. You need to ask him. Can you really make it to the mill in such cold weather? The bleeding will stop immediately.

- Screw him, Pankrata! - Filka said and fell silent.

At night he climbed down from the stove. The grandmother was sleeping, sitting on the bench. Outside the windows the air was blue, thick, terrible.

IN clear sky Above the sedge trees stood the moon, adorned like a bride with pink crowns.

Filka pulled his sheepskin coat around him, jumped out into the street and ran to the mill. The snow sang underfoot, as if a team of cheerful sawyers were sawing at the root birch grove over the river. It seemed as if the air had frozen and there was only one void left between the earth and the moon - burning and so clear that if a speck of dust had been raised a kilometer from the earth, then it would have been visible and it would have glowed and twinkled like a small star.

The black willows near the mill dam turned gray from the cold. Their branches sparkled like glass. The air pricked Filka's chest. He could no longer run, but walked heavily, shoveling snow with felt boots.

Filka knocked on the window of Pankratova's hut. Immediately, in the barn behind the hut, a wounded horse neighed and kicked. Filka gasped, squatted down in fear, and hid. Pankrat opened the door, grabbed Filka by the collar and dragged him into the hut.

“Sit down by the stove,” he said. - Tell me before you freeze.

Filka, crying, told Pankrat how he had offended the wounded horse and how because of this frost fell on the Village.

“Yes,” Pankrat sighed, “your business is bad!” It turns out that because of you everyone is going to disappear. Why did you offend the horse? For what? You are a senseless citizen!

Filka sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

- Stop crying! - Pankrat said sternly. - You are all masters at roaring. Just a little bit of mischief - now there’s a roar. But I just don’t see the point in this. My mill stands as if sealed by frost forever, but there is no flour, no water, and we don’t know what we can come up with.

- What should I do now, Grandfather Pankrat? - Filka asked.

- Invent an escape from the cold. Then you will not be guilty before people. And in front of a wounded horse too. You will be a clean, cheerful person. Everyone will pat you on the shoulder and forgive you. It's clear?

V. Bianchi “Snow Book”

They wandered around and were followed by animals in the snow. You won’t immediately understand what happened here.

To the left, under a bush, a hare trail begins -

The trail from the hind legs is elongated and long; from the front - round, small. A hare trail followed across the field. On one side of it there is another footprint, a larger one; There are holes in the snow from claws - a fox track. And on the other side of the hare’s trail there is another trail: also a fox’s, only it leads back.

The hare circled the field; fox too. The hare to the side - the fox behind him. Both tracks end in the middle of a field.

But to the side there is another hare trail. It disappears and goes on...

It goes, goes, goes - and suddenly it stops - as if it went underground! And where it disappeared, the snow was crushed there and it was as if someone had smeared it with their fingers.

Where did the fox go?

Where did the hare go?

Let's sort it by warehouse.

There is a bush. The bark has been torn off. It’s trampled under the bush, followed. Rabbit tracks. Here the hare was fattening: he was gnawing bark from a bush. He will stand on his hind legs, tear off a piece with his teeth, chew it, step on his paws, and tear off another piece nearby. I was full and wanted to sleep. I went looking for somewhere to hide.

And here is a fox trail, next to a hare one. It happened like this: the hare went to sleep. An hour passes, then another. A fox is walking through the field. Look, a hare's footprint in the snow! Fox nose to the ground. I sniffed - the trail was fresh!

She ran along the trail.

The fox is cunning, and the hare is not simple: he knew how to confuse his trail. He galloped and galloped across the field, turned, turned a large loop, crossed his own trail - and to the side.

The trail is still smooth, unhurried: the hare walked calmly, without sensing trouble.

The fox ran and ran and saw: there was a fresh trail across the trail. I didn’t realize that the hare had made a noose.

She turned sideways - following a fresh trail; runs, runs - and stops: the trail is broken! Where to now?

And the point is simple: this is a new bunny trick - deuce.

The hare made a loop, crossed its trail, walked a little forward, and then turned around and back along its trail.

He walked carefully, foot to foot.

The fox stood, stood, and then went back.

I came to the crossroads again.

I tracked down the whole loop.

She walks, walks, sees that the hare has deceived her, the trail leads nowhere!

She snorted and went into the forest about her business.

And it was like this: the hare made a deuce - he walked back along his trail.

He didn’t reach the loop and waved through the snowdrift to the side.

He jumped over a bush and lay down under a pile of brushwood.

He lay there while the fox followed his trail.

And when the fox left, he jumped out from under the brushwood and into the thicket!

Jumps wide - paws to paws: a ton trail.

He rushes without looking back. Stump on the road. The hare is passing by. And on the stump... And on the stump sat a big eagle owl.

I saw a hare, took off, and followed him. He caught up and hit me in the back with all his claws!

The hare poked into the snow, and the eagle owl settled in, beat the snow with its wings, and lifted it off the ground.

Where the hare fell, the snow was crushed there. Where the eagle owl flapped its wings, there were marks in the snow from feathers, as if from fingers.

N. Sladkov “Bureau of Forest Services”

Cold February arrived in the forest. He made snowdrifts on the bushes and covered the trees with frost. And although the sun is shining, it is not warming.

Ferret says:

- Save yourself as best you can!

And Magpie chirps:

-Everyone for himself again? Alone again? No, so that we can work together against a common misfortune! And that’s what everyone says about us, that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even a shame...

Here the Hare got involved:

- That's right, the Magpie is chirping. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau of Forest Services. For example, I can help partridges. Every day I tear the snow on the winter fields to the ground, let them peck the seeds and greens there after me - I don’t mind. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau as number one!

- There is still a smart head in our forest! - Soroka was happy. - Who is next?

- We're next! - the crossbills shouted. “We peel the cones on the trees and drop half of the cones whole.” Use it, voles and mice, don’t mind!

“The hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” wrote Magpie.

- Who is next?

“Sign us up,” the beavers grumbled from their hut. “We piled so many aspen trees in the fall—there’s enough for everyone.” Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, gnaw on the juicy aspen bark and branches!

And it went, and it went!

Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite them to carrion, crows promise to show them their dumps. Soroka barely has time to write down.

The Wolf also trotted out at the noise. He straightened his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:

Sign me up for the Bureau too!

The magpie almost fell from the tree:

- Are you, Volka, at the Service Bureau? What do you want to do in it?

“I will serve as a watchman,” answers the Wolf.

-Who can you guard?

- I can guard everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near the aspen trees, partridges in the greens, beavers in the huts. I'm an experienced watchman. He guarded the sheep in the sheepfold, the chickens in the chicken coop...

- You are a robber from a forest road, not a watchman! - Magpie shouted. - Move on, you rascal! We know you. It’s me, Soroka, who will guard everyone in the forest from you: when I see you, I’ll raise a cry! I will write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” Am I worse than others, or what?

This is how bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But it happens, and they help each other out.

Anything can happen in the forest.

N. Sladkov “Everything has its time”

I'm tired of winter. If only it were summer now!

- Hey, Waxwing, would you be happy about summer?

“You ask again,” Waxwing answers. - I’m switching from rowan to viburnum, my tongue is set on edge!

And Soroka is already asking Kosach. Kosach also complains:

- I sleep in the snow, for lunch there is only birch porridge! Red eyebrows - frostbitten!

Magpie knocks on the Bear's door: how are you spending the winter?

- So-so! - Misha grumbles. - From side to side. I’m lying on my right side and I see raspberries, on my left I see linden honey.

- It's clear! - The magpie is chirping. - Everyone is tired of winter! May you fail, winter!

And winter failed...

Before you know it, summer is around! Warmth, flowers, leaves. Have fun, forest people!

And the forest people became confused...

“I’m kind of confused, Soroka!” - The waxwing says. - What position have you put me in? I rushed to you from the north along the mountain ash, and you have only leaves. On the other hand, I’m supposed to be in the north in the summer, but I’m stuck here! Head spin. And there's nothing to eat...

- I did Forty things! - Kosach hisses angrily. - What nonsense? Where did spring go? In the spring I sing songs and dance. The most fun time! And in the summer they just moult and lose feathers. What nonsense?

- So you yourself dreamed of summer?! - cried Magpie.

- You never know! - The bear speaks. — We dreamed of summer with linden honey and raspberries. Where are they if you jumped over the spring? Neither the raspberries nor the linden trees had time to bloom - therefore, there will be no raspberries or linden honey! Turn your tail, I'll pluck it for you now!

Wow, how angry Magpie was! She swerved, jumped, flew up onto the tree and shouted:

- You will go down with the summer! - And the unexpected summer failed. And again it’s winter in the forest. The Waxwing is pecking at the rowan tree again. Kosach sleeps in the snow. And the Bear is in the den. Everyone grumbles a little. But they endure. The real spring is awaiting.

E. Nosov “Thirty grains”

At night, snow fell on the wet trees, bending the branches with its loose, damp weight, and then it was grabbed by frost, and the snow now held tightly to the branches, like candied cotton wool.

A titmouse flew in and tried to pick at the frost. But the snow was hard, and she looked around worriedly, as if asking: “What should we do now?”

I opened the window, put a ruler on both crossbars of the double frames, secured it with buttons and placed hemp grains every centimeter. The first grain ended up in the garden, and grain number thirty ended up in my room.

The titmouse saw everything, but for a long time did not dare to fly to the window. Finally she grabbed the first hemp and carried it to a branch. Having pecked the hard shell, she plucked out the core.

Everything went well. Then the titmouse, seizing the moment, picked up grain number two...

I sat at the table, worked and from time to time glanced at the titmouse. And she, still timid and anxiously looking into the depths of the window, centimeter by centimeter approached along the ruler on which her fate was measured.

- Can I peck another grain? The only one?

And the titmouse, frightened by the noise of its own wings, flew away with the hemp into the tree.

- Well, one more thing please. OK?

Finally the last grain remained. It lay at the very tip of the ruler. The grain seemed so far away, and it was so scary to follow it!

The titmouse, crouching and pricking its wings, crept to the very end of the line and ended up in my room. With fearful curiosity she peered into the unknown world. She was especially struck by the living green flowers and the very summer warmth that enveloped my chilled paws.

- Do you live here?

- Why is there no snow here?

Instead of answering, I turned on the switch. An electric light flashed brightly under the ceiling.

-Where did you get a piece of the sun? And what's that?

- This? Books.

- What are books?

“They taught how to light this sun, plant these flowers and those trees on which you jump, and much more. And they also taught you how to sprinkle hemp seeds on you.

- This is very good. And you're not scary at all. Who are you?

- I am human.

- What is a Man?

It was very difficult to explain this to the stupid little titmouse.

- Do you see the thread? She is tied to the window...

The titmouse looked around in fear.

- Don't be afraid. I won't do this. This is what we call Human.

-Can I eat this last grain?

- Yes, sure! I want you to fly to me every day. You will visit me, and I will work. This helps a Person to work well. Agree?

- Agree. What does it mean to work?

- You see, this is the responsibility of every person. It's impossible without her. All people must do something. This is how they help each other.

- How do you help people?

— I want to write a book. Such a book that everyone who reads it would put thirty hemp grains on his window...

But it seems that the titmouse is not listening to me at all. Having clasped the seed with her paws, she slowly pecks it at the tip of the ruler.

Y. Koval “Snow Rain”

I looked out the window to see what the weather was like, and didn’t understand whether it was snowing or raining outside?

The air was cloudy and gray, and something incomprehensible was flying from the sky to the ground.

Were visible and raindrops and sluggish snowflakes.

- Snow. It's snowing again.

How long, how painfully winter has risen this year. Snow will fall and things will immediately become fun. You take out a sled and go up the hill and ride. And while you are sledding down the mountain, the snow has already melted, and you are plowing the earth with your nose.

- What times are they? What kind of winters are they? - Orekhevna sighed. “There will never be a real winter now.”

“I’m tired of the snow,” I said. - We need snowfall.

One day at the end of December, at night, I went out into the street. All the winter stars and constellations were in front of me. And the heavenly hunter Orion, and the Dogs - Greater and Lesser, and Charioteer, and the Twins.

- What is this being done? — I turned to Orion. - Snow.

And then Orion shook his shoulder, and a star flew from his shoulder to the ground, followed by another, a third. The real December starfall has begun.

The stars soon died down, faded away, and snowflakes appeared from somewhere out of the black depths of the night. Starfall turned into snowfall.

Snow began to fall in droves, and the entire village - houses and barns - suddenly turned into a fairy-tale city.

And it immediately became clear to me that this snow had settled completely and for a long time and would remain there as long as Orion was visible in the sky. That means until spring.

Y. Koval “Bullfinches and cats”

In late autumn, with the first powder, they came to us from northern forests bullfinches.

Plump and rosy, they sat on the apple trees, as if in place of fallen apples.

And our cats are right there. They also climbed the apple trees and settled on the lower branches. They say, sit down with us, bullfinches, we are also like apples.

Even though the bullfinches haven’t seen cats for a whole year, they still think. After all, cats have tails, and apples have tails.

How good are bullfinches, and especially snow maidens. Their breasts are not as fiery as those of their owner, the bullfinch, but they are tender and fawn.

The bullfinches are flying away, the snow maidens are flying away.

And the cats stay on the apple tree.

They lie on the branches and wag their apple-like tails.

S. Kozlov “We ​​will come and breathe”

There has been no sun for several days now. The forest was empty and quiet. Even the crows didn’t fly - that’s how empty the forest was.

“Well, that’s it, get ready for winter,” said the Bear.

-Where are the birds? - asked the Hedgehog.

- They are getting ready. Insulate the nests.

-Where is Belka?

— Lines the hollow with dry moss.

- And the Hare?

— He’s sitting in the hole, breathing. Wants to breathe for the whole winter.

“He’s stupid,” Hedgehog smiled.

“I told him: you won’t get enough before winter.”

“I’ll breathe in,” he says. I will breathe and breathe.

- Let's go see him, maybe we can help him.

And they went to the Hare.

The hare's hole was on the third side of the mountain. On one side is the Hedgehog's house, on the other is the Little Bear's house, and on the third is the Hare's hole.

“Here,” said the Bear. - Here. Hey Hare! - he shouted.

“Ah,” came a muffled sound from the hole.

- What are you doing there? - asked the Hedgehog.

- Did you inhale a lot?

- Not yet. Half.

- Do you want us to breathe from above? - asked Little Bear.

“It won’t work,” came from the hole. - I have a door.

“Make a crack,” said the Hedgehog.

“Open it a little, and we’ll breathe,” said the Bear.

“Boo-boo-boo,” came from the hole.

“Now,” said the Hare. - Well, breathe! The Hedgehog and the Little Bear lay head to head and began to breathe.

“Ha!.. Ha!..” breathed the Hedgehog.

“Ha-ah!.. Ha-ah!..” breathed the Little Bear.

- Well, how? - Hedgehog shouted.

“It’s getting warmer,” said the Hare. - Breathe.

- And now? — a minute later the Little Bear asked.

“There’s nothing to breathe,” said the Hare.

- Come out to us! - Hedgehog shouted.

- Close the door and get out!

The hare slammed the door and climbed out.

- Well, how?

“Like in a bathhouse,” said the Hare.

“You see, three of us are better,” said the Teddy Bear.

“Now we will come to you all winter and breathe,” said the Hedgehog.

“If you’re freezing, come to me,” said the Bear.

“Or to me,” said the Hedgehog.

“Thank you,” said the Hare. - I'll definitely come. Just don't come to me, okay?

- But why?..

“Traces,” said the Hare. - Stomp on it, and then someone will definitely eat me.

Option 4

Every person has favorite time year, which is wonderful in its own way. For me wonderful days come in winter. And for sure many will support me, and rightly so. How can one not rejoice at the white fluffy snow covering the dirty and gray asphalt, decorating everything around with wonderful whiteness. And the air is becoming cleaner. Huge snowdrifts appear in yards.

The day is getting shorter, and the winter sun is in no hurry to emerge from behind the clouds. It only comes out for a while and does not heat at all. But how beautifully the crunchy snow sparkles! The first snowfall leaves an indelible impression. Children watch with delight how snowflakes fall and rejoice at the long-awaited snow. After all, it is in winter that you can ride the slides and walk through the winter forest on skis. And fans of speed skating and desperate hockey players will now be able to spend their free time on the rink.

The trees covered with a heavy snow cover are especially beautiful. When you walk through the park, you can see birds landing on branches, joyfully announcing Mother Winter. You feel especially great pleasure at the moment when there is a crackling noise outside the window. severe frost or a blizzard sweeps, sweeping everything around. And at this time you are sitting at home by the fireplace, wrapped in a warm blanket, and drinking aromatic tea, while reading interesting book or listening to your favorite music. And a fluffy cat lies nearby, purring something incomprehensible. There is nothing more pleasant than these moments!

It’s especially beautiful in the village in winter! Huge snowdrifts lie everywhere, and the severe frost causes bizarre patterns to appear on the windows, depicting bizarre figures of animals and flowers. They remind us of a fairy tale.

But the most important thing is that it is in winter that each of us waits for the New Year, which brings joy and fun to the house. Streets and houses become festive, as if notifying everyone about fabulous celebrations. After all, it is in New Year's Eve Both adults and children make their deepest wish and hope that it will come true. Long holidays are coming for schoolchildren, during which they can relax in full force. The most pleasant moment for everyone, especially for children, is Christmas tree, where every child looks forward to the appearance of Father Frost and the Snow Maiden, and of course a gift. And no matter what surprises winter brings to us, it will still be the most memorable time of the year for us.

Essay 5

Winter is an amazing time that pleases many with its whiteness. The whole earth is wrapped in a white sheet. The trees fall asleep in anticipation of spring. Many writers and artists have described winter beauty in their works. Pushkin himself greatly admired the winter beauty. He dedicated many poems to this time. One of them is “Winter Mornings”.

For half of the people, winter is a time of admiration and joy, and for the other half, winter is a time of sadness and repentance. For city dwellers, winter is primarily a time of labor and work, but for rural residents, on the contrary, it is a time of rest. Since the entire harvest has been harvested, all that remains is to wait for spring to start new crops.

For a long time, people have loved to play fun game snowballs. This is active winter game, in which you throw snow at each other. It brings not only excitement, but also contributes to the physical development of a person. Snowballs have existed for a long time and will last just as long. This game of our childhood brought us together and gave rise to friendship.

Another winter entertainment is sledding. As children, we all loved to sled down a big steep hill. This game develops courage. Also, when hearing the word winter, many people imagine snowmen. After the first snow fell, we all gathered in the yard to make snowmen. And they all made sure to make one huge snowman together, which stood in the middle of the yard. This snowman stood all winter and reminded us of the good and fun day we spent together.

It is also worth noting that winter does not come alone, but with it comes cold weather. In winter in Russia without warm clothes and no place for shoes. Russian winter is ideal conditions For winter species sports You can dress warmly and go skiing or skating. You can have fun in the cold. Frost is not only good for birds. It is very difficult for birds to find a warm, secluded place to wait out the frost. It is also difficult for them to find food and pull it out of the snowdrifts. It is even more difficult to find water since it is frozen. The only chance for birds to drink water in winter is to find ice holes left by fishermen on rivers. But not all birds suffer from winter. Many birds fly south to warmer climes.

Still in winter New Year, which all children are waiting for and never stop believing in the New Year's miracle. Winter brings us both joy and sadness. You need to lead an active lifestyle and not get sick, since there are already few vitamins in winter.

K. V. Lukashevich

She appeared wrapped up, white, cold.

Who are you? - the children asked.

I am the season - winter. I brought snow with me and will soon throw it on the ground. He will cover everything with a white fluffy blanket. Then my brother, Grandfather Frost, will come and freeze the fields, meadows and rivers. And if the guys start being naughty, it will freeze their hands, feet, cheeks and noses.

Oh oh oh! What a bad winter! What a scary Santa Claus! - said the children.

Wait, children... But I will give you a ride down the mountain, skates and a sled. And then your favorite Christmas will come with a merry Christmas tree and Grandfather Frost with gifts. Don't you love winters?

kind girl

K. V. Lukashevich

stood harsh winter. Everything was covered with snow. It was hard for the sparrows. The poor things could not find food anywhere. Sparrows flew around the house and chirped pitifully.

The kind girl Masha took pity on the sparrows. She began to collect bread crumbs, and every day she sprinkled them on her porch. The sparrows flew in to feed and soon stopped being afraid of Masha. So the kind girl fed the poor birds until spring.

Winter

Frosts have frozen the ground. Rivers and lakes froze. There is white fluffy snow everywhere. Children are happy about winter. It's nice to ski on fresh snow. Seryozha and Zhenya play snowballs. Lisa and Zoya are making a snow woman.

Only animals have a hard time winter cold. Birds fly closer to housing.

Guys, help our little friends in winter. Make bird feeders.

Volodya was at the Christmas tree

Daniil Kharms, 1930

Volodya was at the Christmas tree. All the children were dancing, but Volodya was so small that he couldn’t even walk yet.

They put Volodya in a chair.

Volodya saw the gun: “Give me! Give me!” - shouts. But he can’t say “give”, because he’s so small that he doesn’t know how to speak yet. But Volodya wants everything: he wants an airplane, he wants a car, he wants a green crocodile. I want everything!

"Give! Give!" - Volodya shouts.

They gave Volodya a rattle. Volodya took the rattle and calmed down. All the children are dancing around the Christmas tree, and Volodya is sitting in a chair and ringing his rattle. Volodya really liked the rattle!

Last year I was at my friends and girlfriends' Christmas tree

Vanya Mokhov

Last year I was at my friends and girlfriends' Christmas tree party. It was a lot of fun. On Yashka's Christmas tree - he played tag, on Shurka's Christmas tree - he played blind man's buff, on Ninka's Christmas tree - he looked at pictures, on Volodya's Christmas tree - he danced in a round dance, on Lizaveta's Christmas tree - he ate chocolate candies, on Pavlusha’s Christmas tree - he ate apples and pears.

And this year I’ll go to the school Christmas tree - it will be even more fun.

Snowman

Once upon a time there lived a snowman. He lived on the edge of the forest. It was filled with children who came here to play and sled. They made three lumps of snow and placed them on top of each other. Instead of eyes, they inserted two coals into the snowman, and instead of a nose, they inserted a carrot. A bucket was put on the snowman's head, and his hands were made from old brooms. One boy liked the snowman so much that he gave him a scarf.

The children were called home, but the snowman was left alone, standing in the cold winter wind. Suddenly he saw that two birds had flown to the tree under which he was standing. One big one with a long nose began to chisel the tree, and the other began to look at the snowman. The snowman got scared: “What do you want to do to me?”; And the bullfinch, and it was he, replies: “I don’t want to do anything with you, I’m just going to eat a carrot.” “Oh, oh, don’t eat the carrot, it’s my nose. Look, there’s a feeder hanging on that tree, the children left a lot of food there.” The bullfinch thanked the snowman. Since then they became friends.

Hello, winter!

So, it has come, the long-awaited winter! It's good to run through the frost on the first winter morning! The streets, still gloomy like autumn yesterday, are completely covered with white snow, and the sun shimmers in it with a blinding brilliance. A bizarre pattern of frost lay on shop windows and tightly closed house windows, frost covered the branches of poplars. Whether you look along the street, which stretches out like a smooth ribbon, or whether you look around you closely, everything is the same everywhere: snow, snow, snow. Occasionally a rising breeze pricks your face and ears, but how beautiful everything is around! What gentle, soft snowflakes smoothly swirl in the air. No matter how prickly the frost is, it is also pleasant. Isn’t that why we all love winter, because it, just like spring, fills our chests with an exciting feeling. Everything is alive, everything is bright in the transformed nature, everything is full of invigorating freshness. It’s so easy to breathe and so good at heart that you involuntarily smile and want to say a friendly word to this wonderful winter morning: "Hello, winter!";

“Hello, long-awaited, cheerful winter!”;

The day was mild and hazy. The reddish sun hung low above long, layered clouds that looked like snow fields. In the garden there were pink trees covered with frost. Vague shadows on the snow were saturated with the same warm light.

Snowdrifts

(From the story "Nikita's Childhood";)

The wide yard was completely covered with shining, white, soft snow. There were deep human and frequent dog tracks in it. The air, frosty and thin, stung my nose and pricked my cheeks with needles. The carriage house, barns and cattle yards stood squat, covered with white caps, as if they had grown into the snow. The tracks of the runners ran like glass from the house across the entire yard.

Nikita ran down the porch along the crunchy steps. Below there was a brand new pine bench with a twisted rope. Nikita examined it - it was made firmly, tried it - it glides well, put the bench on his shoulder, grabbed a shovel, thinking that he would need it, and ran along the road along the garden, to the dam. There stood huge, wide willows, almost reaching to the sky, covered with frost - each branch looked like it was made of snow.

Nikita turned right, towards the river, and tried to follow the road, in the footsteps of others. Large fluffy snowdrifts had accumulated on the steep banks of the Chagra River these days. In other places they hung like capes over the river. Just stand on such a cape - and it will groan, sit down, and a mountain of snow will roll down in a cloud of snow dust.

To the right, the river meandered like a bluish shadow between white and fluffy fields. To the left, just above the steep slope, were the black huts and the cranes of the village of Sosnovki sticking out. Blue high smoke rose above the roofs and melted. On the snowy cliff, where spots and stripes were yellow from the ash that had been raked out of the stoves today, small figures were moving. These were Nikitin's friends - boys from "our end"; villages. And further, where the river curved, other boys, the “Konchansky” ones, were barely visible, very dangerous.

Nikita threw the shovel, lowered the bench onto the snow, sat astride it, grabbed the rope tightly, pushed off with his feet twice, and the bench itself went down the mountain. The wind whistled in my ears, snow dust rose from both sides. Down, down, like an arrow. And suddenly, where the snow ended above the steep slope, the bench flew through the air and slid onto the ice. She went quieter, quieter, and became quieter.

Nikita laughed, got off the bench and dragged her up the mountain, getting stuck up to his knees. When he climbed up the bank, not far away, on a snowy field, he saw a black figure, taller than a man, as it seemed, of Arkady Ivanovich. Nikita grabbed a shovel, rushed onto the bench, flew down and ran across the ice to the place where the snowdrifts hung over the river.

Having climbed under the very cape, Nikita began to dig a cave. The work was easy - the snow was cut with a shovel. Having dug out a cave, Nikita climbed into it, dragged in a bench and began to fill it with clods from the inside. When the wall was laid, a blue half-light spilled into the cave - it was cozy and pleasant. Nikita sat and thought that none of the boys had such a wonderful bench - Nikita! Where have you gone? - he heard the voice of Arkady Ivanovich.

Nikita... looked into the gap between the clods. Below, on the ice, Arkady Ivanovich stood with his head raised.

Where are you, robber?

Arkady Ivanovich adjusted his glasses and climbed towards the cave, but immediately got stuck up to his waist;

Get out, I'll get you out of there anyway. Nikita was silent. Arkady Ivanovich tried to climb

Higher, but got stuck again, put his hands in his pockets and said:

If you don't want it, you don't have to. Stay. The fact is that mom received a letter from Samara... However, goodbye, I'm leaving - What letter? - Nikita asked.

Yeah! So you're here after all.

Tell me, who is the letter from?

A letter about the arrival of some people for the holidays.

Lumps of snow immediately flew from above. Nikita's head poked out of the cave. Arkady Ivanovich laughed cheerfully.

Buran

A snowy white cloud, as huge as the sky, covered the entire horizon and quickly covered the last light of the red, burnt evening dawn with a thick veil. Suddenly night came... the storm came with all its fury, with all its horrors. A desert wind blew up in the open air, blew up the snowy steppes like swan's fluff, and threw them up to the skies... Everything was covered in white darkness, impenetrable, like the darkness of the darkest autumn night!

Everything merged, everything was mixed up: the earth, the air, the sky turned into an abyss of boiling snow dust, which blinded the eyes, took up one’s breath, roared, whistled, howled, moaned, beat, ruffled, spit on all sides, wrapped itself above and below like a snake, and strangled everything he came across.

The heart of the most timid person sinks, the blood freezes, stops from fear, and not from cold, for the cold during snowstorms is significantly reduced. The sight of the disturbance of winter northern nature is so terrible...

The storm raged hour by hour. It raged all night and all the next day, so there was no driving. Deep ravines were made into high mounds...

Finally, the excitement of the snowy ocean began to subside little by little, which still continues even then, when the sky already shines with a cloudless blue.

Another night passed. The violent wind died down and the snow settled. The steppes presented the appearance of a stormy sea, suddenly frozen over... The sun rolled out into a clear sky; its rays began to play on the wavy snow...

Winter

It's already arrived real winter. The ground was covered with a snow-white carpet. Not a single dark spot remained. Even the bare birches, alders and rowan trees were covered with frost, like silvery fluff. They stood covered in snow, as if they were wearing an expensive, warm fur coat...

The first snow was falling

It was about eleven o'clock in the evening, the first snow had recently fallen, and everything in nature was under the power of this young snow. There was a smell of snow in the air, and the snow crunched softly underfoot. The ground, the roofs, the trees, the benches on the boulevards - everything was soft, white, young, and this made the houses look different than yesterday. The lights burned brighter, the air was clearer...

Farewell to summer

(Abridged)

One night I woke up with a strange sensation. It seemed to me that I had gone deaf in my sleep. I lay with my eyes open, listened for a long time and finally realized that I had not gone deaf, but that there was simply an extraordinary silence outside the walls of the house. Such silence is called “dead”;. The rain died, the wind died, the noisy, restless garden died. You could only hear the cat snoring in its sleep.

I opened my eyes. White and even light filled the room. I got up and went to the window - everything was snowy and silent behind the glass. A lonely moon stood at a dizzying height in the foggy sky, and a yellowish circle shimmered around it.

When did the first snow fall? I approached the walkers. It was so light that the arrows showed clearly. They showed two o'clock. I fell asleep at midnight. This means that in two hours the earth changed so unusually, in two short hours the fields, forests and gardens were bewitched by the cold.

Through the window I saw how big gray bird sat on a maple branch in the garden. The branch swayed and snow fell from it. The bird slowly rose and flew away, and the snow kept falling like glass rain falling from a Christmas tree. Then everything became quiet again.

Reuben woke up. He looked outside the window for a long time, sighed and said:

The first snow suits the earth very well.

The earth was elegant, looking like a shy bride.

And in the morning everything crunched around: frozen roads, leaves on the porch, black nettle stems sticking out from under the snow.

Grandfather Mitriy came to visit for tea and congratulated him on his first trip.

“So the earth was washed,” he said, “with snow water from a silver trough.”

Where did you get these words from, Mitrich? - Reuben asked.

Is there anything wrong? - the grandfather grinned. - My mother, the deceased, told me that in ancient times, beauties washed themselves with the first snow from a silver jug ​​and therefore their beauty never faded.

It was difficult to stay at home at first. We went to the forest lakes. Grandfather walked us to the edge of the forest. He also wanted to visit the lakes, but “the ache in his bones did not let him go.”

It was solemn, light and quiet in the forests.

The day seemed to be dozing. Lonely snowflakes occasionally fell from the cloudy high sky. We carefully breathed on them, and they turned into pure drops of water, then became cloudy, froze and rolled to the ground like beads.

We wandered through the forests until dusk, going around familiar places. Flocks of bullfinches sat, ruffled, on snow-covered rowan trees... Here and there in the clearings birds flew and squeaked pitifully. The sky above was very light, white, and towards the horizon it thickened, and its color resembled lead. Slow snow clouds were coming from there.

The forests became increasingly gloomy, quieter, and finally thick snow began to fall. It melted in the black water of the lake, tickled my face, and powdered the forest with gray smoke. Winter has begun to rule the earth...

Winter night

Night has fallen in the forest.

Frost taps on the trunks and branches of thick trees, and light silver frost falls in flakes. In the dark high sky, bright winter stars were scattered, apparently and invisibly...

But even on a frosty winter night, hidden life in the forest continues. A frozen branch crunched and broke. It was a white hare running under the trees, bouncing softly. Something hooted and suddenly laughed terribly: somewhere an eagle owl screamed, weasels howled and fell silent, ferrets hunted for mice, owls silently flew over the snowdrifts. Like a fairy-tale sentry, a big-headed gray owlet sat down on a bare branch. In the darkness of the night he alone hears and sees himself walking into winter forest life hidden from people.

Aspen

The aspen forest is beautiful even in winter. Against a background of dark spruce trees, a thin lace of bare aspen branches intertwines.

Night and daytime birds nest in the hollows of old thick aspens, and mischievous squirrels store up their supplies for the winter. People hollowed out light shuttle boats from thick logs and made troughs. Snowshoe hares feed on the bark of young aspen trees in winter. The bitter bark of aspens is gnawed by moose.

It used to be that you were walking through the forest, and suddenly, out of the blue, a heavy black grouse would break loose with a noise and fly. A white hare will jump out and run almost from under your feet.

Silver flashes

It's a short, gloomy December day. Snowy twilight is level with the windows, a cloudy dawn at ten o'clock in the morning. During the day, a flock of children returning from school chirps, drowning in snowdrifts, a cart with firewood or hay creaks - and ! In the frosty sky behind the village, silver flashes - the northern lights - begin to dance and shimmer.

At a sparrow's hop

Not much - just a sparrow's jump added a day after the New Year. And the sun had not yet warmed up - like a bear, on all fours, it crawled along the spruce tops across the river.