Read children's stories about spring. Material on the surrounding world (senior group) on the topic: What to tell preschoolers about spring. E. Nosov “Skvoreshnya”

Stories for children about spring, nature and animals in spring.

Spring! Spring! And she’s happy about everything!

Spring, long delayed by the cold, suddenly began in all its glory, and life began to play everywhere. The woods were already turning blue, and the dandelion was turning yellow over the fresh emerald of the first green... Swarms of midges and heaps of insects appeared in the swamps; a water spider was already running after them; and behind him all the birds gathered in the dry reeds from everywhere. And everyone was going to take a closer look at each other. Suddenly the earth was populated, forests and meadows awoke. Round dances began in the village. There was space for the party. What brightness there is in greenery! What freshness is in the air! What does the sound of birds cry in the gardens!..

Spring

It was now impossible to look at the sun; it poured down from above in shaggy, dazzling streams. Clouds floated across the blue, blue sky like heaps of snow. Spring breezes smelled of fresh grass and birds' nests.

In front of the house, large buds burst on the fragrant poplars, and chickens moaned in the heat. In the garden, grass was growing out of the heated earth, piercing the rotting leaves with green stalks, and the entire meadow was covered with white and yellow stars. Every day there were more birds in the garden. Blackbirds ran between the trunks - dodgers to walk. There is an oriole in the linden trees, big bird, green, with yellow, like gold, down on the wings, - fussing, whistled in a honeyed voice.

As the sun rose, on all the roofs and birdhouses the starlings woke up, began to sing in different voices, wheezed, whistled, now with a nightingale, now with a lark, now with some African birds, which they had heard enough of over the winter overseas - they mocked, and out of tune terribly. A woodpecker flew like a gray handkerchief through the transparent birches, landing on a trunk, turning around, raising its red crest on end.

And so on Sunday, on a sunny morning, in the trees that had not yet dried out from the dew, a cuckoo crowed by the pond: with a sad, lonely, gentle voice she blessed everyone who lived in the garden, starting with the worms;

Live, love, be happy, cuckoo. And I’ll live alone for nothing, ku-ku...

The whole garden listened silently to the cuckoo. ladybugs, birds, always surprised frogs, sitting on their stomachs, some on the path, some on the steps of the balcony - everyone wished for fate. The cuckoo cuckooed, and the whole garden whistled even more merrily, rustling the leaves... The oriole whistles with a honeyed voice, as if into a pipe filled with water. The window was open, the room smelled of grass and freshness, the light of the sun was obscured by wet leaves. A breeze blew and drops of dew fell on the windowsill... It was so good to wake up, listen to the whistle of the oriole, look out the window at the wet leaves.

Forest and steppe

... Further, further!.. Let's go to the steppe places. If you look from the mountain - what a view! Round, low hills, plowed and sown to the top, scatter in wide waves; ravines overgrown with bushes meander between them; small roshis are scattered along oblong islands; Narrow paths run from the village... but further, further you go.

The hills are getting smaller and smaller, there is almost no tree to be seen. Here it is, finally - the boundless, vast steppe!..

And on a winter day, walking through high snowdrifts after hares, breathing in the frosty sharp air, involuntarily squinting at the dazzling fine sparkle of soft snow, admiring the green color of the sky above the reddish forest!.. And the first ones spring days when everything glitters and collapses steeply, through the heavy steam of melted snow there is already the smell of warmed earth, in the thawed patches, under the slanting ray of the sun, larks trustingly sing, and, with a cheerful noise and roar, streams swirl from the ravine...

Spring came

Spring came. Hasty streams gurgled along the wet streets. Everything became brighter than in winter: houses, fences, people’s clothes, the sky, and the sun. The May sun makes you squint your eyes, it’s so bright. And in a special way it gently warms, as if stroking everyone.

Tree buds swelled in the gardens. The branches of the trees swayed from the fresh wind and barely audibly whispered their spring song.

The chocolate scales burst, as if shooting out, and green tails appear. Both the forest and the garden have a special smell - greenery, thawed earth, something fresh. These are the kidneys with different trees different smells echo each other. If you smell a bird cherry bud, the bitter-tasty smell reminds you of the white tassels of its flowers. And birch has its own special aroma, delicate and light.

Smells fill the entire forest. In the spring forest you can breathe easily and freely. And the short, but such a gentle and joyful song of the robin began to ring. If you listen to it, you can make out the familiar words: “Glory, glory all around!”; The young, green forest whistles and shimmers in every way.

Joyful, young both in heaven and on earth, and in the heart of man.

Spring

Spring did not open for a long time. The weather has been clear and frosty for the last few weeks. During the day the snow melted in the sun. Suddenly a warm wind blew. A thick gray fog moved in. Water flowed in the fog. The ice floes crackled. Muddy streams moved. By evening the fog disappeared. The sky has cleared. In the morning, the bright sun quickly ate away the thin ice. The warm spring air trembled from the evaporation of the earth. The larks began to sing over the velvet of greenery and stubble. Cranes and geese flew high with spring cackling. Cows brayed in the pastures. Real spring has come.

Steppe in spring

An early spring morning is cool and dewy. Not a cloud in the sky. Only in the east, where the sun is now emerging in a fiery glow, do the gray pre-dawn clouds still crowd, turning pale and melting with every minute. The entire vast expanse of the steppe seems to be sprinkled with fine golden dust. In the thick lush grass, diamonds of coarse dew tremble here and there, shimmering and flashing with multi-colored lights. The steppe is cheerfully full of flowers: gorse turns bright yellow, bells turn modestly blue, fragrant chamomile grows white in whole thickets, wild carnations burn with crimson spots. In the morning coolness, the healthy smell of wormwood is diffused, mixed with the delicate, almond-like aroma of dodder. Everything shines and basks and joyfully reaches for the sun. Only here and there in deep and narrow ravines, between steep cliffs overgrown with sparse bushes, wet bluish shadows still lie, reminding of the bygone night.

High in the air, invisible to the eye, the larks flutter and ring. The restless grasshoppers have long since raised their hasty, dry chatter.

The steppe has woken up and come to life, and it seems as if it is breathing with deep, even and powerful sighs.

Childhood years of Bagrov-grandson

(Excerpt)

... In the middle of Lent, a strong thaw occurred. The snow quickly began to melt, and water appeared everywhere. The approach of spring in the village made an extraordinary, irritating impression on me. I felt a special kind of excitement that I had never experienced before... and followed every step of spring. The muddy thawed patches became wider and longer, the lake in the grove filled fuller, and, passing through the fence, water was already visible between the cabbage beds in our garden. I noticed everything accurately and carefully, and every step of spring was celebrated as a victory!

The rooks have been walking around the yard for a long time and began to build nests in the Rook Rosh. The starlings and larks also arrived; and then a real bird began to appear, game, as the hunters say.

How much excitement, how much noisy joy!

The water came in strong. The river overflowed its banks and merged with the Rook Grove Lake. All the banks were strewn with all kinds of game; many ducks swam on the water between the tops of the flooded bushes, and meanwhile large and small flocks of various migratory birds were constantly rushing by; some flew high without stopping, while others flew low, often falling to the ground; some flocks sat down, others rose, others flew from place to place; screams, squeaks, and whistles filled the air. Not knowing what kind of bird it was flying or walking, what its dignity was, which one was squeaking or whistling, I was amazed, distraught by such a spectacle. I listened, looked, and then I didn’t understand anything what was happening around me, only my heart either froze or pounded like a hammer; but then everything seemed to me afterwards, even now it seems to me clearly and distinctly, it gave and continues to give inexplicable pleasure!..

Little by little I got used to the coming spring and its various phenomena, always new, stunning and delightful; I say I got used to it, in the sense that I no longer went into a frenzy...

It's already spring

(Excerpt)

It's spring outside. The pavements are covered with a brown mess, on which future paths are already beginning to appear; roofs and sidewalks are dry; On the floor of fences, tender, young greenery breaks through last year’s rotten grass.

Dirty water runs in the ditches, happily murmuring and foaming... Slivers, straws, sunflower shells quickly rush through the water, swirl and cling to the dirty foam. Where, where are these slivers going? It is very possible that they will fall from the ditch into the river, from the river into the sea, from the sea into the ocean...

Dictionary of native nature

The Russian language is very rich in words related to the seasons and natural phenomena, associated with them.

Let's take at least early spring. She, this spring girl still chilled from the last frost, has a lot of good words in her knapsack.

Thaws, snowmelts, and drips from the roofs begin. The snow becomes grainy, spongy, settles and turns black. The fogs eat him up. Gradually the roads are being destroyed, muddy roads and impassability are setting in. On the rivers the first gullies with black water appear in the ice, and on the hillocks there are thawed patches and bald spots. Along the edge of the compacted snow, the coltsfoot is already turning yellow.

Then the first movement occurs on the rivers; water emerges from holes, holes and ice holes.

For some reason, ice drift begins most often around dark nights, after “the ravines go”; and hollow, melt water, ringing with the last pieces of ice - “shards”, will merge from the meadows and fields.

Hello Spring!

The roads have darkened. The ice on the river turned blue. Rooks are adjusting their nests. The streams are ringing. Scented buds appeared on the trees. The guys saw the first starlings.

Slender schools of geese came from the south. A caravan of cranes appeared high in the sky.

Willow loosened her soft puffs. Busy ants ran along the paths.

A white hare ran out to the edge of the forest. Sits on a tree stump, looks around. Came out big moose with a beard and horns. A joyful feeling fills the soul.

Sounds of spring

Sokolov-mikitov Ivan Sergeevich

Anyone who has spent the night by a fire in the forest many times will never forget hunting spring nights. The early morning hour in the forest is miraculously coming. It seems that an invisible conductor raised his magic wand and at his sign the beautiful symphony of the morning begins. Obeying the baton of an invisible conductor, one after another the stars go out over the forest. Increasingly and fading in the tops of the trees, the pre-dawn wind sweeps over the heads of the hunters. As if joining the music of the morning, you can hear the singing of the first awakened dawn bird.

A quiet, familiar sound is heard: “Horr, horr, tsviu!” Horrr, horrr, tsviu!”; - this is a woodcock - a long-billed forest sandpiper - pulling over the morning forest. From a thousand forest sounds, the hunter’s sensitive ear already catches the unusual, unlike anything else, song of the wood grouse.

At the most solemn hour of the appearance of the sun, the sounds of forest music especially increase. Greeting the rising sun, cranes blow on silver trumpets, tireless musicians - blackbirds - sing on countless pipes everywhere, larks rise into the sky from bare forest glades and sing.

Beautiful time

Grigorovich Dmitry Vasilievich

April is coming to an end. Spring was early. The snow has melted from the fields. They turn green in winter. It's so good to be in the field! The air is filled with the songs of the lark. Fresh sap moves in the branches and stems. The sun warms the thicket and fields. The remaining snow is melting in the forest and ravine. Beetles are buzzing. The river has entered its banks. It's a wonderful time - spring!

In the March sun

In the calm, in secluded forest glades, the sun is as hot as in summer. You turn one cheek to him, you want to turn the other cheek too - it’s nice.

The horned spruce is basking in the sun, thickly, from crown to hem, hung with old cones, birch trees are basking, and the forest children are basking - the willow.

We waited

It's spring again. No sooner had the sunset played out than the east began to blush. The forest is thick and scattered throughout Pinega. The long-faced logs, like large fish, hammer away at the newly installed boom with a dull thud. The boom creaks, the water sloshes in the rocky throat of the lintel:

“Ehe-he-he-hey!”; The loud sound swept through the night Pinega, jumped out onto the other bank, hooting, along the tops of the pine forest.

The echo began to play like summer. Waiting for brighter days again!

And day is not day, and not night... Mysteriously, transparently the sky above the silent earth. They are dozing, surrounded by forests - dark, motionless. The dawn, which never fades for a minute, gilds their pointed peaks in the east.

Dream and reality are confused in the eyes. You wander through the village - both the houses and the trees seem to sway blindly, and suddenly you yourself no longer feel the weight of your own body, and it already seems to you that you are not walking, but floating over a silent village.

Quiet, so quiet that you can hear the bird cherry tree resting under the window, showering with white flowers. A drop of water reluctantly separates from the wooden bottom of a bucket raised above a well - the depths of the earth respond with a resounding echo. The sweet smell of milk flows from the slightly open barns, the bitterness of the sun radiates from the hut wood, heated during the day. Hearing footsteps, a dove will move under the roof, cooing sleepily, and then, slowly circling, a light feather will fly to the ground, leaving behind it a thin stream of nesting warmth in the air.

Spring is the period of awakening and blossoming of nature.There is still snow on the ground, but alreadywoke up from a long day winter sleep hedgehogs, bears.They left the hole or den and went to look for drier places.

How did they know that spring had come? After all, there is no TV or radio in the forest? How did they know that it was time for them to wake up and get out of their holes and dens as quickly as possible?

It turns out that the snow melted in the spring,Water leaked from the melted snow into their holes and dens. Even if you want to sleep, you can’t lie in a wet hole. So they had to crawl out of their holes and dens and look for drier places for themselves.

1. Bears in the spring.

In April, a mother bear with grown cubs wakes up and leaves the den. She wanders through the forest - looking for food: pulling out bulbs and roots of plants, looking for larvae.

Coming out of the den, the bear stretches, rolls around, and tries to warm up after hibernation, tidies up his fur coat. And looking for food.

By the time they leave the den, bears moult. They lose their thick winter coat and grow a short, darker coat. The fur will grow again all summer and will be thick and warm by the new winter (bears do not shed in the fall).

In the spring, the she-bear not only feeds the cubs with her milk, but also teaches them to get their own food - dig roots out of the ground, look for insects, last year's berries. Even if the mother bear is hungry, first of all she will give food to her babies - the cubs. While protecting the cubs, the mother bear can attack any enemy.

In the spring, the mother bear bathes her cubs in streams and lakes: she takes them by the scruff of the neck and lowers them into the water. Later, when the kids grow up, they will begin to bathe themselves.

Sometimes in a family of bears there is an older bear cub - a “pestun” (a bear cub from last year’s litter). So it is called from the word “nurture”. A bear cub is a nurse - the main assistant of a mother bear, a role model for little bear cubs. He shows them how to climb hollows for honey, how to feast on ants and their larvae. He separates the cubs if they fight and restores order among them. This is the kind of helper the bear has! And daddy bear does not take part in raising the cubs.

1. Hedgehogs in the spring.
   

Hedgehogs wake up after hibernation only when their burrow warms up. And the mink warms up when the ground thaws. At the end of March, at the beginning of April, you can come to the forest and hear snorting, coughing and rustling of last year’s leaves under the bushes. It's probably a hedgehog. And if the hedgehog wakes up, it means that winter will definitely not return.

In April, hedgehogs also appear. They are born in a hedgehog's nest, which looks like a hut made of dry leaves, twigs and moss. The hedgehog feeds the hedgehogs with milk and takes care of them.

Hedgehogs, like baby squirrels, are born helpless and naked, without needles. A few hours after birth, bumps appear on the skin of the hedgehogs, then they burst, and thin needles appear from them. Then the needles will harden and turn into thorns. The mother of the hedgehog first feeds the hedgehogs with milk, and then, when they grow up, she brings them earthworms and slugs to their nest.

They love hedgehogs. Do you know why... Because you rarely meet with them. And those who are familiar with them know that the character and manners of hedgehogs... Well, in short, hedgehogs are not fluffy bunnies!

To begin with, I will tell you that hedgehogs are terrible sleepers. They sleep a lot. And for a long time. From October to March they hibernate. And in the summer, when they eat up their sides, hedgehogs can sleep most of the day. They really love to sleep.

Dad the hedgehog especially loves to sleep. He runs away from his wife immediately after the wedding ceremony. In one of his holes, of which he usually has about ten. A hedgehog takes care of its offspring for 30-40 days. After this, the little hedgehogs scatter in different directions: some for beetles, some for slugs, and the most cunning ones - for the larvae of mosquitoes and centipedes. When the mushrooms grow and the berries ripen, hedgehogs can become vegetarians.

Hedgehogs also love to eat - sometimes they eat so much during the night that their weight increases by a third.

• IN in spring many animals molt. .

They exchange their winter coat - warm, thick - for a summer, lighter one. Hares, foxes, bears, and moose moult in the spring. The squirrel becomes red again, and not silver as in winter.

To quickly shed its white fur, the hare rolls on the grass, rubs against the branches of bushes and tree trunks. Therefore, in the forest in the spring you can see scraps of hare fur on stems, branches, and in thickets.

In spring, animals feel hot in winter coats; the fur is too thick. And the sun is getting hotter and hotter, it's time to change your winter outfit. The animals began to molt. Their old fur gradually falls out and their fur becomes sparse. Now it won’t be so hot for forest dwellers in the spring sun. Some animals not only shed, but even change the color of their coat. The hare's fur was white in winter and turned gray in spring. This makes it easier for him to hide from predators in the forest. And in winter, a bunny in a white fur coat is not visible in the snow, and in spring, gray fur helps to hide from enemies under the bushes.

The squirrel also changes its outfit - in winter it was in a thick gray fur coat, and in the spring it faded and became red. Now you won’t even notice it right away in the crowns of pine trees.”

• In the spring, the animals give birth to their young.

Almost all baby animals live with their mothers, except for rabbits.

1. Squirrels in the spring.

At the squirrel's Baby squirrels also appear in the spring. They are born naked, helpless, and cannot see anything. The mother squirrel takes care of them, feeding the squirrels milk for two months. But the squirrel dad does not live with his family, he lives separately.

The mother squirrel spends a lot of time searching for food, otherwise the baby squirrels will grow up frail and sick. Baby squirrels require special attention from the mother squirrel; they need to be covered, warmed, and fed. Only after a month do the baby squirrels open their eyes and begin to look out of the nest.

In spring, the squirrel is the enemy of all birds and the most dangerous predator for many birds. She's ruining bird's nests on tree branches and drags chicks and eggs from them.

1. Hares in spring.

Mom is a hare feeds the bunnies and immediately runs away, leaving them alone under a bush. And the bunnies sit under the bush for three to four days, waiting for someone to feed them. new mom- hare.

There are no strangers' bunnies - they are all their own and will always be fed. Hares' milk is fatty and nutritious; it lasts for 3-4 days.

Why does nature work this way? The fact is that hares have sweat and sebaceous glands only on the soles of their paws. And if the hare lived with the hares, they would quickly be found - smelled by the smell - a fox or a wolf. After all, rabbits have many enemies - fox, wolf, marten, lynx, and predator birds. And when a tiny bunny sits under a bush and hides its paws under itself, it is impossible to find it by its smell. It turns out that by running away from the bunnies, the hare saves them.

After 8-9 days, the rabbits will have teeth, and then grass will appear, and they will begin to feed themselves.

1. Foxes in spring.

Foxes also have cubs. Usually in March - April, a fox gives birth to 4-6 cubs. Little fox cubs are dark brown in color, and the tips of their tails are white! After 3-4 weeks, the fox cubs stop eating the milk of their mother, the fox, but still live in the hole. Their parents bring them food into the hole.

Their mother, the fox, does not allow anyone near the fox cubs. She guards the hole. The mother fox watches closely to see if there is any danger nearby. In case of danger, the fox barks loudly, and the cubs quickly run away - they hide deep in the hole. And if people or dogs have visited the fox hole, then the fox will definitely move her cubs to another safe place - away from the previous hole. The father fox also helps raise the fox cubs. He teaches them and brings them booty.

In the spring, the fox gives birth to cubs: 4.5 or 6 puppies. Yes, yes, fox cubs are called puppies. Whose other babies are called puppies?

Foxes and dogs are close relatives. They even have similar voices: foxes, like dogs, bark and yap.

1. Wolves in the spring.

To raise wolf cubs, wolves make a den in the forest thicket. In the spring, a she-wolf gives birth to 4-7 cubs. They are born helpless and covered with gray fluff. First, the she-wolf feeds the cubs with her milk, and does not leave them anywhere. And daddy the wolf brings food to the she-wolf. When the wolf cubs grow up, both mother and father feed them together.

K. Ushinsky “Morning Rays”

The red sun floated into the sky and began sending out its golden rays everywhere - waking up the earth.

The first ray flew and hit the lark. The lark perked up, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang its silver song: “Oh, how nice 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 some juicy grass for breakfast.

The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped his wings and sang: “Ku-ka-re-ku!” The chickens flew away from their infestations, clucked, and began to rake away the rubbish and look for worms.

The fourth ray hit the hive. A bee crawled out of its wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and “zoom-zoom-zoom!” - flew off to collect honey from fragrant flowers.

The fifth ray hit the little lazy boy in the nursery: it hit him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

I. Turgenev “Sparrow”

I was returning from hunting and walking along the garden alley. The dog ran ahead of me.

Suddenly she slowed down her steps and began to sneak, as if sensing game in front of her.

I looked along the alley and saw a young sparrow with yellowness around its beak and down on its head. He fell from the nest (the wind strongly shook the birch trees of the alley) and sat motionless, helplessly spreading his barely sprouted wings.

My dog ​​was slowly approaching him, when suddenly, falling from a nearby tree, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone in front of her muzzle - and, all disheveled, distorted, with a desperate and pitiful squeak, he jumped a couple of times in the direction of the toothy open mouth.

He rushed to save, he shielded his brainchild... but his whole small body trembled with horror, his voice grew wild and hoarse, he froze, he sacrificed himself!

What a huge monster the dog must have seemed to him! And yet he could not sit on his high, safe branch... A force stronger than his will threw him out of there.

My Trezor stopped, backed away... Apparently, he recognized this power.

I hastened to call the embarrassed dog back and left in awe.

Yes, don't laugh. I was in awe of that little heroic bird, of her loving impulse.

Love, I thought stronger than death and fear of death. Only by her, only by love does life hold and move.

K. Ushinsky “Swallow”

In the fall, the boy wanted to destroy the swallow’s nest stuck under the roof, in which the owners were no longer there: sensing the approach of cold weather, they flew away.

“Don’t ruin the nest,” the father said to the boy, “in the spring the swallow will fly again, and she will be pleased to find her former house.”

The boy obeyed his father.

Winter passed, and at the end of April a pair of sharp-winged, beautiful birds, cheerful and chirping, flew in and began to fly around the old nest.

Work began to boil; The swallows carried clay and silt from a nearby stream in their noses, and soon the nest, which had deteriorated a little over the winter, was redecorated. Then the swallows began to carry either fluff, then a feather, or a stalk of moss into the nest.

A few more days passed, and the boy noticed that only one swallow was flying out of the nest, and the other remained in it constantly.

“Apparently, she put on the testicles and is now sitting on them,” the boy thought.

In fact, after three weeks, tiny heads began to peek out of the nest. How glad the boy was now that he had not ruined the nest!

Sitting on the porch, he spent hours watching how caring birds flew through the air and caught flies, mosquitoes and midges. How quickly they scurried back and forth, how tirelessly they obtained food for their children!

The boy marveled at how the swallows did not get tired of flying all day long, without sitting down for almost a single minute, and expressed his surprise to his father. The father took out a stuffed swallow and showed it to his son:

- Look how long, large wings and tail the swallow has in comparison with its small, light body and such tiny legs that it has almost nothing to sit on; that's why she can fly so fast and for a long time. If the swallow could speak, then she would tell you such wonders - about the southern Russian steppes, about the Crimean mountains covered with grapes, about the stormy Black Sea, which she had to fly through without sitting down even once, about Asia Minor, where everything was blooming and green , when we already had snow, about the blue Mediterranean Sea, where she had to relax once or twice on the islands, about Africa, where she built her nest and caught midges when we had Epiphany frosts.

“I didn’t think swallows fly so far,” said the boy.

“And not only swallows,” continued the father, “larks, quails, blackbirds, cuckoos, wild ducks, geese and many other birds, which are called migratory, also fly away from us to warm countries for the winter. For some, the warmth that happens in winter in southern Germany and France is enough; others need to fly high snowy mountains to take refuge for the winter in the blooming lemon and orange groves of Italy and Greece; the third needs to fly even further, to fly across the entire Mediterranean Sea.

- Why don’t they stay in warm countries a whole year,” the boy asked, “if it’s so good there?”

Apparently they don't have enough food for their children, or maybe it's too hot. But marvel at this: how do swallows, flying thousands of four miles, find their way to the very house where they have built their nest?

A. Chekhov “In Spring”

(excerpt)

The snow has not yet melted from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul. If you have ever recovered from a serious illness, then you know the blissful state when you freeze with vague premonitions and smile for no reason. Apparently, nature is now experiencing the same state. The ground is cold, the mud and snow squish underfoot, but how cheerful, affectionate, and welcoming everything is all around! The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb a dovecote or a bell tower, you seem to see the entire universe from edge to edge.

The sun is shining brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in the puddles along with the sparrows. The river swells and darkens; she has already woken up and will begin to roar today or tomorrow. The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe...

A. Chekhov “White-fronted”

The hungry wolf got up to go hunting. Her cubs, all three of them, were fast asleep, huddled together, warming each other. She licked them and walked away.

It was already the spring month of March, but at night the trees crackled with cold, like in December, and as soon as you stuck out your tongue, it began to sting strongly. The wolf was in poor health and suspicious; She shuddered at the slightest noise and kept thinking about how at home without her no one would offend the wolf cubs. The smell of human and horse tracks, tree stumps, stacked firewood and the dark, manure-covered road frightened her; It seemed to her as if people were standing behind the trees in the darkness and dogs were howling somewhere beyond the forest.

She was no longer young and her instincts had weakened, so that it happened that she mistook a fox’s track for a dog’s; sometimes even, deceived by her instincts, she lost her way, which had never happened to her in her youth. Due to poor health, she no longer hunted calves and large rams, as before, and already walked far around horses with foals, but ate only carrion; She had to eat fresh meat very rarely, only in the spring, when she, having come across a hare, took her children away from her or climbed into the men's barn where the lambs were.

About four versts from her lair, near the post road, there was a winter hut. Here lived the watchman Ignat, an old man of about seventy, who kept coughing and talking to himself; He usually slept at night, and during the day he wandered through the forest with a single-barreled gun and whistled at the hares. He must have served as a mechanic before, because every time before stopping he shouted to himself: “Stop, car!” and before going any further: “Full speed ahead!” With him was a huge black Dog unknown breed, named Arapka. When she ran far ahead, he shouted to her: “Reverse!” Sometimes he sang and at the same time staggered greatly and often fell (the wolf thought it was from the wind) and shouted: “He went off the rails!”

The wolf remembered that in the summer and autumn a sheep and two lambs grazed near the winter hut, and when she ran past not so long ago, she thought she heard something bleating in the barn. And now, approaching the winter quarters, she realized that it was already March and, judging by the time, there must certainly be lambs in the barn. She was tormented by hunger, she thought about how greedily she would eat the lamb, and from such thoughts her teeth clicked and her eyes shone in the darkness like two lights.

Ignat's hut, his barn, stable and well were surrounded by high snowdrifts. It was quiet. The little black must have been sleeping under the barn.

The wolf climbed up the snowdrift to the barn and began raking the thatched roof with her paws and muzzle. The straw was rotten and loose, so that the wolf almost fell through; Suddenly a smell of warm steam and the smell of manure and sheep's milk hit her right in the face. Below, feeling the cold, the lamb gently bleated. Jumping into the hole, the wolf fell with her front paws and chest on something soft and warm, probably on a ram, and at that time something in the barn suddenly squealed, barked and burst into a thin, howling voice, the sheep shied towards the wall, and The wolf, frightened, grabbed the first thing she caught in her teeth and rushed out...

She ran, straining her strength, and at this time Arapka, who had already sensed the wolf, howled furiously, disturbed chickens clucked in the winter hut, and Ignat, going out onto the porch, shouted:

- Full speed ahead! Let's go to the whistle!

And it whistled like a car, and then - go-go-go-go!.. And all this noise was repeated by the forest echo.

When little by little all this calmed down, the she-wolf calmed down a little and began to notice that her prey, which she held in her teeth and dragged through the snow, was heavier and seemed to be harder than lambs usually are at this time; and it smelled as if different, and you could hear some strange noises... The wolf stopped and put her burden on the snow to rest and start eating, and suddenly jumped back in disgust. It was not a lamb, but a puppy, black, with a large head and high legs, a large breed, with the same white spot all over its forehead, like Arapka’s. Judging by his manners, he was an ignoramus, a simple mongrel. He licked his bruised, wounded back and, as if nothing had happened, waved his tail and barked at the wolf. She growled like a dog and ran away from him. He's behind her. She looked back and clicked her teeth; he stopped in bewilderment and, probably deciding that it was she who was playing with him, stretched his muzzle towards the winter hut and burst into a loud, joyful bark, as if inviting his mother Arapka to play with him and the wolf.

It was already dawn, and when the wolf made her way to her place through the dense aspen forest, every aspen tree was clearly visible, and the black grouse were already waking up and beautiful roosters often fluttered up, disturbed by the careless jumping and barking of the puppy.

“Why is he running after me? - thought the wolf with annoyance. “He must want me to eat him.”

She lived with the wolf cubs in a shallow hole; three years ago, during a strong storm, a tall old pine tree was uprooted, which is why this hole was formed. Now at the bottom there were old leaves and moss, and there were bones and bull horns with which the wolf cubs played. They had already woken up and all three, very similar friend at each other, stood side by side on the edge of their hole and, looking at the returning mother, wagged their tails. Seeing them, the puppy stopped at a distance and looked at them for a long time; noticing that they were also looking at him attentively, he began to bark angrily at them, as if they were strangers.

It was already dawn and the sun had risen, the snow was sparkling all around, and he still stood at a distance and barked. The wolf cubs sucked their mother, pushing her with their paws into her skinny belly, and at that time she was gnawing on a horse bone, white and dry; she was tormented by hunger, her head ached from the dog’s barking, and she wanted to rush at the uninvited guest and tear him apart.

Finally the puppy became tired and hoarse; Seeing that they were not afraid of him and did not even pay attention to him, he began to timidly, now crouching, now jumping, approach the wolf cubs. Now, at daylight, it was already easy to see him... His white forehead was large, and on his forehead there was a bump, such as happens to very stupid dogs; the eyes were small, blue, dull, and the expression of the entire muzzle was extremely stupid. Approaching the wolf cubs, he stretched his wide paws forward, put his muzzle on them and began:

- Mnya, mnya... nga-nga-nga!..

The wolf cubs did not understand anything, but waved their tails. Then the puppy hit one of the wolf cubs on the big head with his paw. The wolf cub also hit him on the head with his paw. The puppy stood sideways to him and looked at him sideways, wagging its tail, then suddenly rushed away and made several circles on the crust. The wolf cubs chased him, he fell on his back and lifted his legs up, and the three of them attacked him and, squealing with delight, began to bite him, but not painfully, but as a joke. The crows sat on a tall pine tree and looked down at their struggle and were very worried. It became noisy and fun. The sun was already hot like spring; and the roosters, constantly flying over the pine tree fallen by the storm, seemed emerald in the brilliance of the sun.

Usually she-wolves accustom their children to hunting by letting them play with prey; and now, watching how the wolf cubs chased the puppy along the crust and fought with it, the wolf thought:

“Let them get used to it.”

Having played enough, the cubs went into the hole and went to bed. The puppy howled a little with hunger, then also stretched out in the sun. And when they woke up, they started playing again.

All day and evening the wolf remembered how last night a lamb bleated in the barn and how it smelled of sheep's milk, and from appetite she kept clicking her teeth and did not stop gnawing greedily on an old bone, imagining to herself that it was a lamb. The wolf cubs suckled, and the puppy, who was hungry, ran around and sniffed the snow.

“Let’s eat it...” the wolf decided.

She came up to him, and he licked her face and whined, thinking that she wanted to play with him. In the past, she ate dogs, but the puppy smelled strongly of dog, and, due to poor health, she no longer tolerated this smell; she felt disgusted and walked away...

By night it got colder. The puppy got bored and went home.

When the wolf cubs were fast asleep, the wolf went hunting again. Like the previous night, she was alarmed by the slightest noise, and she was frightened by stumps, firewood, and dark, lonely juniper bushes that looked like people from afar. She ran away from the road, along the crust. Suddenly something dark flashed on the road far ahead... She strained her eyes and ears: in fact, something was walking ahead, and even measured steps could be heard. Isn't it a badger? She carefully, barely breathing, taking everything to the side, overtook the dark spot, looked back at it and recognized it. It was a puppy with a white forehead who was returning to his winter hut, slowly and step by step.

“I hope he doesn’t bother me again,” the wolf thought and quickly ran forward.

But the winter hut was already close. She again climbed up the snowdrift into the barn. Yesterday's hole had already been filled with spring straw, and two new strips stretched across the roof. The wolf began to quickly work with her legs and muzzle, looking around to see if the puppy was coming, but as soon as the warm steam and the smell of manure hit her, a joyful, liquid bark was heard from behind. It's the puppy back. He jumped onto the wolf's roof, then into a hole and, feeling at home, in the warmth, recognizing his sheep, barked even louder... Arapka woke up under the barn and, sensing the wolf, howled, the chickens clucked, and when Ignat appeared on the porch with with her single-barreled gun, the frightened wolf was already far from her winter hut.

- Fut! - Ignat whistled. - Fut! Drive at full speed!

He pulled the trigger - the gun misfired; he fired again - again it misfired; he fired a third time - and a huge sheaf of fire flew out of the trunk and a deafening “boo!” boo!". There was a strong blow to his shoulder; and, taking a gun in one hand and an ax in the other, he went to see what was causing the noise...

A little later he returned to the hut.

“Nothing...” Ignat answered. - It's an empty matter. Our White-fronted one got into the habit of sleeping with the sheep, in the warmth. Only there is no such thing as going through the door, but everything seems to be going through the roof. The other night he tore up the roof and went for a walk, the scoundrel, and now he’s returned and tore up the roof again.

- Silly.

- Yes, the spring in the brain burst. I don't like death, stupid people! - sighed Ignat, who climbed onto the stove. - Well, man of God, it’s too early to get up, let’s go to sleep at full speed...

And in the morning he called White-fronted to him, tore him painfully by the ears and then, punishing him with a twig, kept saying:

- Go through the door! Walk through the door! Walk through the door!

A. Kuprin “Starlings”

It was mid-March. Spring this year turned out to be smooth and friendly.

Occasionally there were heavy but short rains. We have already driven on wheels on roads covered with thick mud. The snow still lay in drifts in the deep forests and in the shady ravines, but in the fields it settled, became loose and dark, and from under it, in some places, black, greasy soil steaming in the sun appeared in large bald patches. The birch buds are swollen. The lambs on the willows turned from white to yellow, fluffy and huge. The willow blossomed. The bees flew out of the hives for the first bribe. The first snowdrops timidly appeared in the forest clearings.

We were looking forward to seeing old friends fly into our garden again - starlings, these cute, cheerful, sociable birds, the first migratory guests, the joyful messengers of spring. They need to fly many hundreds of miles from their winter camps, from the south of Europe, from Asia Minor, from northern regions Africa. Others will have to travel more than three thousand miles. Many will fly over the seas: Mediterranean or Black. There are so many adventures and dangers along the way: rains, storms, dense fogs, hail clouds, birds of prey, shots from greedy hunters. How much incredible effort must be required for such a flight? small creature weighing about twenty to twenty-five spools. Truly, the shooters who destroy the bird during the difficult journey, when, obeying the mighty call of nature, it strives to the place where it first hatched from the egg and saw sunlight and greenery, have no heart.

Animals have a lot of their own wisdom, incomprehensible to people. Birds are especially sensitive to weather changes and predict them long ago, but it often happens that migratory wanderers in the middle of a vast sea are suddenly overtaken by a sudden hurricane, often with snow. It is far from the shores, the strength is weakened by the long flight... Then the entire flock dies, with the exception of a small part of the strongest. Happiness for the birds if they encounter a sea vessel in these terrible moments. In a whole cloud they descend on the deck, on the wheelhouse, on the rigging, on the sides, as if entrusting their little life to a person in danger. And stern sailors will never offend them, will not offend their reverent gullibility. A beautiful sea legend even says that inevitable misfortune threatens the ship on which the bird that asked for shelter was killed.

Coastal lighthouses can sometimes be disastrous. Lighthouse keepers sometimes find in the mornings, after foggy nights, hundreds and even thousands of bird corpses in the galleries surrounding the lantern and on the ground around the building. Exhausted by the flight, heavy from the sea moisture, the birds, having reached the shore in the evening, unconsciously rush to where they are deceptively attracted by light and warmth, and in their fast flight they smash their chests against thick glass, iron and stone.

But an experienced, old leader will always save his flock from this misfortune by taking a different direction in advance. Birds also hit telegraph wires if for some reason they fly low, especially at night and in fog.

Having made a dangerous crossing across the sea plain, starlings rest all day and always in a certain, favorite place from year to year. I once saw one such place in Odessa in the spring. This is a house on the corner of Preobrazhenskaya Street and Cathedral Square, opposite the cathedral garden. This house was then completely black and seemed to be all stirring from the great multitude of starlings that settled everywhere: on the roof, on the balconies, cornices, window sills, trim, window visors and on the moldings. And the sagging telegraph and telephone wires were closely strung with them, like large black rosaries. There was so much deafening screaming, squeaking, whistling, chattering, chirping and all sorts of bustle, chatter and quarrel.

Despite their recent fatigue, they certainly could not sit still for a minute. Every now and then they pushed each other, falling up and down, circling, flying away and returning again. Only old, experienced, wise starlings sat in important solitude and sedately cleaned their feathers with their beaks. The entire sidewalk along the house turned white, and if a careless pedestrian happened to gape, then trouble threatened his coat and hat.

Starlings make their flights very quickly, sometimes making up to eighty miles per hour. They will fly to a familiar place early in the evening, feed themselves, take a short nap at night, in the morning - before dawn - have a light breakfast and set off again, with two or three stops in the middle of the day. So, we waited for the starlings. We fixed old birdhouses that had become warped from the winter winds and hung new ones. Three years ago we had only two of them, last year five, and now twelve. It was a little annoying that the sparrows imagined that this courtesy was being done for them, and immediately, at the first warmth, the birdhouses took over. Amazing bird this sparrow, and everywhere he is the same - in the north of Norway and on the Azores: nimble, rogue, thief, bully, brawler, gossip and the most impudent one. He will spend the whole winter hunched up under a fence or in the depths of a dense spruce, eating what he finds on the road, and as soon as spring comes he climbs into someone else’s nest, which is closer to home - a birdhouse or a swallow. And they will kick him out, as if nothing had happened... He flutters, jumps, sparkles with his little eyes and shouts to the whole universe: “Alive, alive, alive! Alive, alive, alive! Please tell me what good news for the world!

Finally, on the nineteenth, in the evening (it was still light), someone shouted: “Look - starlings!” Indeed, they sat high on the branches of poplars and, after the sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black. We began to count them: one, two... five... ten... fifteen... And next to the neighbors, among the transparent spring-like trees, these dark motionless lumps easily swayed on flexible branches. That evening there was no noise or fuss among the starlings.

For two days the starlings seemed to be gaining strength and kept visiting and inspecting last year’s familiar places. And then the eviction of sparrows began. I did not notice any particularly violent clashes between starlings and sparrows.

Usually, starlings sit in twos high above the birdhouses and, apparently, chatter carelessly about something among themselves, while they themselves gaze downwards with one eye, sideways. It's scary and difficult for the sparrow. No, no - he sticks his sharp, cunning nose out of the round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, frivolity, and perhaps timidity make themselves felt. “I’m flying, he thinks, for a minute and right away. Maybe I'll outwit you. Maybe they won’t notice.” And as soon as it has time to fly away a fathom, the starling drops like a stone and is already at home. And now the sparrow’s temporary economy has come to an end. Starlings guard the nest one by one: one sits while the other flies on business. Sparrows would never think of such a trick: a windy, empty, frivolous bird. And so, out of chagrin, great battles begin between the sparrows, during which fluff and feathers fly into the air. And the starlings sit high in the trees and even tease: “Hey, black-headed one. You won’t be able to overcome that yellow-chested one forever and ever.” - "How? To me? Yes, I’ll take him now!” - “Come on, come on...” And there will be a dump. However, in the spring all the animals and birds and even the boys fight much more than in the winter.

Having settled in the nest, the starling begins to carry all kinds of construction nonsense there: moss, cotton wool, feathers, fluff, rags, straw, dry blades of grass.

He makes the nest very deep, so that a cat does not crawl in with its paw or a raven sticks its long predatory beak through it. They cannot penetrate further: the entrance hole is quite small, no more than five centimeters in diameter.

And then soon the ground dried up and the fragrant birch buds blossomed.

Fields are plowed, vegetable gardens are dug up and loosened. How many different worms, caterpillars, slugs, bugs and larvae crawl into the light! What an expanse!

In the spring, a starling never looks for its food, either in the air in flight, like swallows, or on a tree, like a nuthatch or woodpecker. Its food is on the ground and in the ground. And do you know how many insects it destroys during the summer, if you count it by weight? A thousand times its own weight! But he spends his entire day in continuous movement.

It is interesting to watch when he, walking between the beds or along the path, hunts for his prey. His gait is very fast and slightly clumsy, with a sway from side to side. Suddenly he stops, turns to one side, then to the other, bows his head first to the left, then to the right. It will quickly bite and run on. And again, and again... Its black back casts a metallic green or purple, chest with brown specks. And during this business there is so much business, fuss and funny in him that you look at him for a long time and involuntarily smile.

It is best to observe the starling early in the morning, before sunrise, and for this you need to get up early. However, an old clever saying says: “He who gets up early doesn’t lose.” If you sit quietly in the morning, every day, without sudden movements somewhere in the garden or vegetable garden, then the starlings will soon get used to you and will come very close. Try throwing worms or bread crumbs to the bird, first from afar, then decreasing the distance. You will achieve the fact that after a while the starling will take food from your hands and sit on your shoulder. And when he arrives next year, he will very soon resume and conclude his former friendship with you. Just don't betray his trust. The only difference between both of you is that he is small and you are big. A bird is a very smart, observant creature; she is extremely remembering and grateful for any kindness.

And the real song of the starling should be listened to only in the early morning, when the first pink light of dawn colors the trees and with them the birdhouses, which are always located with an opening to the east. The air warmed up a little, and the starlings had already settled on high branches and began their concert. I don’t know, really, whether the starling has his own motives, but you will hear enough of anything alien in his song. There are pieces of nightingale trills, and the sharp meow of an oriole, and the sweet voice of a robin, and the musical babbling of a warbler, and the thin whistling of a titmouse, and among these melodies such sounds are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you can’t help but laugh: a hen cackles on a tree , the sharpener's knife will hiss, the door will creak, the children's military trumpet will blow. And, having made this unexpected musical retreat, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without a break, continues his cheerful, sweet, humorous song. One starling I knew (and only one, because I always heard it in a certain place) amazingly faithfully imitated a stork. I just imagined this venerable white black-tailed bird, when it stands on one leg on the edge of its round nest, on the roof of a Little Russian hut, and beats out a ringing shot with its long red beak. Other starlings did not know how to do this thing.

In mid-May, the mother starling lays four to five small, bluish, glossy eggs and sits on them. Now the father starling has a new duty - to entertain the female in the mornings and evenings with his singing throughout the incubation period, which lasts about two weeks. And, I must say, during this period he no longer mocks or teases anyone. Now his song is gentle, simple and extremely melodic.

By the beginning of June, the chicks had already hatched. The starling chick is a true monster, which consists entirely of the head, but the head only consists of a huge, yellow-edged, unusually voracious mouth. For caring parents The most troublesome time has come. No matter how much you feed the little ones, they are always hungry. And then there’s the constant fear of cats and jackdaws; It’s scary to be far from the birdhouse.

But starlings are good companions. As soon as jackdaws or crows get into the habit of circling around the nest, a watchman is immediately appointed, the starling on duty sits on the top of the tallest tree and, whistling quietly, vigilantly looks in all directions. As soon as the predators appear close, the watchman gives a signal, and the entire starling tribe flocks to protect the younger generation. I once saw how all the starlings who were visiting me chased three jackdaws at least a mile away. What a vicious persecution this was! The starlings soared easily and quickly over the jackdaws, fell on them from a height, scattered to the sides, closed again and, catching up with the jackdaws, climbed up again for a new blow.

The jackdaws seemed cowardly, clumsy, rude and helpless in their heavy flight, and the starlings were like some kind of sparkling, transparent spindles flashing in the air.

But it’s already the end of July. One day you go out into the garden and listen. No starlings. You didn’t even notice how the little ones grew up and how they learned to fly.

Now they have left their native homes and are leading a new life in the forests, in winter fields, near distant swamps. There they gather in small flocks and learn to fly for a long time, preparing for the autumn migration. Soon the young people will face their first, great exam, from which some will not come out alive. Occasionally, however, starlings return for a moment to their abandoned father's homes.

They will fly in, circle in the air, sit on a branch near the birdhouses, frivolously whistle some newly picked up motif and fly away, sparkling with their light wings.

But the first cold weather has already set in. It's time to go. By order mighty nature the leader gives a sign one morning, and the air cavalry, squadron after squadron, takes off into the air and rapidly rushes south. Goodbye, dear starlings! Come in the spring. The nests are waiting for you...

The article contains short stories that reveal a larger topic. « Spring phenomena in nature. Animals and birds in spring" . We recommend reading them with your children for general development. The information will also be useful in preparing lessons on the world around us. primary school. Having learned about the spring life of animals and birds, you will learn to see, observe and understand nature a little more.

Birds

The first heralds of spring - rooks - arrive in March. They walk slowly and importantly through the snow-free fields, collecting larvae and worms. The rook is easy to recognize. The old rook has bright black plumage and a white patch around the beak. This is what old rooks look like. But young people don’t have such a spot. On the fields are coming spring sowing Following the tractors and seeders, rooks walk along the furrow, collecting insects. Not immediately after arrival they begin to build their nests. Rooks usually settle on tall trees in large groups. This is a colony of rooks. The place where these birds settled can be immediately recognized by the strong noise and scream.

Following the rooks, the first larks arrive in March, followed by starlings. The birds do not all arrive at once. First, the first single birds arrive. And after the advanced detachments of rooks and starlings, other birds fly. At the end of March the first larks or starlings arrived, and then there were blackbirds, lapwings, gulls, ducks, swans and other birds.

Migratory birds are in a hurry to get to their native places, build a nest, and raise their chicks.

How do our old friends, the wintering birds, live in the spring? And in the spring they begin to worry about raising chicks.

Spring... A joyful, bright time of year. But for many animals and birds spring is the most difficult time, hard times and, above all, the most hungry time. The supplies collected in the fall have come to an end; during the long winter, seeds, acorns, berries, nuts, and mushrooms covered under the snow have been eaten. The bark from young aspen and mountain ash trees was gnawed. Upholstered with cones from fir trees. It just seems that the forest is an inexhaustible storehouse. In fact, by spring there is little edible left.

Animals

A fox runs through the loose spring snow. A hare looks at her warily and fearfully from behind a bush. Foxes and hares are the first to greet spring. In spring, foxes often go to the edge of the forest even during the day and peer and listen for a long time into the sunny, snowy distance.

And the tracks of the animals changed a lot in the spring. They are different from winter ones.

The winter trail of a hare is single, and in March you can find double and triple tracks-paths. The hare gallops across the clearing, then sits down and slowly turns around, listening. A star trail remains in the snow. Suddenly the animal heard something and galloped further. In a forest clearing, two nocturnal animals met and, evident from their tracks, they stopped, sat opposite each other for a long, long time, muttering about something and moving their ears.

In the spring, wolf packs break up. The old wolves are the first to leave, and the rest will continue to walk together for a long time. During the day, the snow melts and becomes soft, and at night the frost covers a strong ice crust. Hares, foxes and even wolves walk along it without falling through. But under the weight of the elk, the crust collapses and cracks. Huge animals fall deep, hurt their legs on the sharp icy edges and cannot run for long. And then the elk will not be able to escape from the wolves.

The melting of the snow will end, ice drift will begin, and then the flood will come. During large floods, spring water floods the underground passages of moles and the burrows of small animals. Their fur gets wet, the animals freeze and die from the cold. It is especially difficult for newborn babies.

At the end of April - beginning of May, the light deciduous forest, which has not yet turned green, is deserted and bare. There is still little food for the animals. But it is precisely at this time that hedgehogs, badgers and bears emerge from their shelters. On such hungry days, if a hedgehog encounters a snake or a viper, there will be a deadly struggle...

Hungry bears wander through the bare spring forest, collect old lingonberries, last year's cranberries in mossy swamps, eat rowan and willow shoots, and sometimes destroy anthills. But spring doesn’t wait, the grass is getting thicker and greener, buds are pricking, sticky, sticky leaves are opening on the trees and bushes.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov “Spring in the Forest”

Through remote thickets and swamps in early spring The hunter made his way from edge to edge through the dense forest.

He saw many birds and animals in the awakened forest. I saw a capercaillie grazing on the edge of a swamp, an elk grazing in a young aspen forest in the sun, and an old wolf making its way through a forest ravine to its lair and running with its prey.

The attentive hunter saw and heard a lot in the forest.

Joyful, noisy and fragrant spring. Birds sing loudly, spring streams ring under the trees. The swollen buds smell like resin.

A warm wind runs through the high peaks.

Soon, soon the forest will be covered with leaves, bird cherry trees will bloom on the edges, and vociferous nightingales will click over the streams. Long-tailed cuckoos will fly by and crow: “Kuk-ku! Cuckoo! Ku-ku!

Busy ants run over the hummocks, fly out of winter shelter, the first bumblebee will buzz.

Shoots of young grass and blue and white snowdrops will cover the forest clearings.

Good, joyful, cheerful spring in the forest!

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov “Early morning”

Early in the morning, in a deep forest, on the very edge of a swamp, a capercaillie is showing.

“Teke, teke, ek, ek, ek!” - his quiet spring song is heard.

Calm morning in the forest.

Every sound can be heard far away.

Here a white hare hobbled through the thicket, quietly crunching. A cautious fox ran along the edge. A fast ferret hid in a hole under a snag.

Long-legged cranes trumpeted loudly in the swamp, greeting the sun.

A long-nosed snipe ram burst out of the swamp and rose into the sky like an arrow.

“Kachi-kachi-kachi-kachi!” — sitting on a hummock, another snipe in the swamp responded joyfully.

“Teke, teke, ek, ek, ek!” - the capercaillie clicked more and more often, and sang his song even hotter. From a distance it seems like someone is sharpening an ax on a grindstone far, far away.

During the song, the capercaillie cannot hear and sees poorly. He does not hear how a fox makes his way through the lek, or how moose graze in a young aspen forest at the edge of the swamp.

When the capercaillie finishes his short song, he listens for a long time: is a hunter coming or sneaking towards the current?

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov "At the edge of the forest"

Higher and higher above the forest the sun.

An old moose cow came out to the edge of the forest with a long-legged newborn calf, and the moose cow dozed off in the warm spring sun.

A little moose calf learns to run. His long legs trip over high hummocks.

The spring sun gently warms the sparse forest. The fragrant sticky buds have already swelled on the trees. Sweet sap oozes from a birch branch broken by moose in clear drops.

Reflecting the high sky, spring puddles in the forest appear blue. And above the blue puddles, above the warmed, awakened earth, in the golden rays of the sun, pusher mosquitoes “push poppies.”

Willow bushes blossomed into golden puffs. Under the trees, hummocks overgrown with lingonberries are green.

The spring forest smells good!

An old moose dozed off in the sun. She sensitively hears every rustle, every alarming sound.

A small elk calf frolics carefree at her feet. He knows that neither gray wolf, neither the evil robber lynx will be offended by his sensitive and strong mother.

M. Prishvin “Guys and Ducklings”

A small wild teal duck finally decided to move her ducklings from the forest, bypassing the village, into the lake to freedom. In the spring, this lake overflowed far, and a solid place for a nest could only be found about three miles away, on a hummock, in a swamp forest. And when the water subsided, we had to travel all three miles to the lake. In places open to the eyes of man, fox and hawk, the mother walked behind so as not to let the Ducklings out of sight for a minute. And near the forge, when crossing the road, she, of course, let them go ahead. That’s where the guys saw them and threw punches at them. All the time while they were catching the ducklings, the mother ran after them with an open beak or flew several steps in different directions in the greatest excitement. The guys were just about to throw hats at their mother and catch her like ducklings, but then I approached.

- What will you do with the ducklings? - I asked the guys sternly.

They chickened out and replied:

- Let's go.

- That’s it, “let’s go”! - I said very angrily. - Why did you need to catch them? Where is mother now?

- And there he sits! - the guys answered in unison. And they pointed out to me a nearby steam mound

fields where the duck actually sat with his mouth open in excitement.

“Quickly,” I ordered the guys, “go and return all the ducklings to her!”

They even seemed to be delighted at my order and ran up the hill with the ducklings. The mother flew away a little and, when the guys left, rushed to save her sons and daughters. In her own way, she quickly said something to them and ran to the oat field. Five ducklings ran after her. And so, through the oat field, bypassing the village, the family continued its journey to the lake.

I joyfully took off my hat and, waving it, shouted:

- Bon voyage, ducklings!

The guys laughed at me.

-Why are you laughing, you fools? - I told the guys. - Do you think it’s so easy for ducklings to get into the lake? Just wait, wait for the university exam. Quickly take off all your hats and shout “goodbye”!

And the same hats, dusty on the road while catching ducklings, rose into the air, and the guys all shouted at once:

- Goodbye, ducklings!

M. Prishvin “Zhurka”

Once we had it - we caught a young crane and gave it a frog. He swallowed it. They gave me another and I swallowed it. The third, fourth, fifth, and then we didn’t have any more frogs at hand.

- Good girl! - said my wife and asked me: - How many of them can he eat? Ten maybe?

“Ten,” I say, “maybe.”

What if twenty?

Twenty, I say, hardly...

We clipped the wings of this crane, and he began to follow his wife everywhere. She milks the cow - and Zhurka goes with her, she goes to the garden - and Zhurka needs to go there, and she also goes to field and collective farm work with her, and to fetch water. My wife got used to him as if she were her own to your own child, and without him she’s already bored, she’s nowhere without him. But only if it happens - he’s not there, only one thing will shout: “Fru-fru!”, and he runs to her. So smart! This is how the crane lives with us, and its clipped wings keep growing and growing.

Once the wife went down to the swamp to fetch water, and Zhurka followed her. A small frog sat by the well and jumped from Zhurka into the swamp, Zhurka followed him, and the water was deep, and you couldn’t reach the frog from the shore. Zhurk flapped his wings and suddenly flew away. His wife gasped and followed him. He swings his arms, but he can’t get up.

And in tears, and to us: “Oh, oh, what grief! Ahah!" We all ran to the well.

We see Zhurka sitting far away, in the middle of our swamp.

- Fru-fru! - I shout.

And all the guys behind me also shout:

- Fru-fru!

And so smart! As soon as he heard our “fru-fru”, he immediately flapped his wings and flew in. At this point the wife can’t remember herself with joy and tells the kids to run quickly after the frogs. This year there were a lot of frogs, the guys soon collected two caps. The guys brought frogs and began giving and counting. They gave me five - I swallowed them, they gave me ten - I swallowed them, twenty and thirty, and so I swallowed forty-three frogs at one time.

N. Sladkov “Three on one log”

The river overflowed its banks and the water overflowed into the sea. The Fox and the Hare are stuck on an island. The Hare rushes around the island and says:

- There is water ahead, the Fox is behind - this is the situation!

And the Fox shouts to the Hare:

- Come on, Hare, to my log - you won’t drown!

The island is going under water. The Hare jumped onto the log to the Fox and the two of them swam down the river.

Magpie saw them and chirped:

- Interesting, interesting... Fox and Hare on the same log - something will come of it!

The Fox and the Hare are swimming. A magpie flies from tree to tree along the shore.

So the Hare says:

“I remember before the flood, when I lived in the forest, I loved to lick willow branches!” So tasty, so juicy...

“And for me,” sighs the Fox, “there is nothing sweeter than voles.” You won’t believe it, the Hare swallowed them whole, didn’t even spit out the bones!

- Yeah! — Soroka was wary. - It's starting!..

She flew up to the log, sat down on a twig and said:

— There are no tasty mice on the log. You, Fox, will have to eat the Hare!

The hungry Fox rushed at the Hare, but the edge of the log plunged - the Fox quickly returned to her place. She shouted at Soroka angrily:

- Oh, what a nasty bird you are! There is no peace from you either in the forest or on the water. So you cling to it like a burr to a tail!

And Soroka, as if nothing had happened:

- Now, Hare, it’s your turn to attack. Where have you seen the Fox and the Hare get along? Push her into the water, I will help!

The Hare closed his eyes and rushed at the Fox, but the log swayed - the Hare quickly came back. And shouts at Soroka:

- What a harmful bird! He wants to destroy us. He's deliberately inciting each other!

A log floats down the river, the Hare and the Fox are thinking on the log.

At first we didn’t even want to listen to the oatmeal song: it was too simple. And the singer is invisible: she sits motionless on a branch, squinting her eyes, and sings in one voice: “Xin-hsin-hsin-hsi-yin!”

“Just listen,” they said. - Do you hear?

“Xin-hsin-hsin-hsi-yin!”

And that’s right, there’s blue all around! How did we not notice this before! And the sky is blue, the haze over the forest is blue, the shadows on the snow are like blue lightning. And if you squint your eyes, everything will turn blue.

Blue month of March!

“That’s not all,” they said. - Listen to her in April.

In April, the bunting gave advice with its song. He will see the driver in the sledge on the muddy road and sing: “Change the sleigh, take the cart!”

In May, the oatmeal has the same song, but the advice is different. He sees that the cattleman is carrying hay to the cows, and immediately: “Carry it, carry it, carry it, don’t bother!”

- Look! - the cattleman grins. - And how does she know that we are running out of hay?

Buntings like to sing near human habitation. She has one song, but everyone translates it in their own way.

E. Nosov “Skvoreshnya”

Spring rustled in streams,

Blackened by the earth and rooks,

And in the branches of swollen cherries

Sparrows fought over birdhouse

To tell the truth, that birdhouse was no longer worth a good word: over the winter the planks were warped, the roof was cracked and there was a gaping hole in it. And the host starlings are already somewhere on the way. Look, they've passed Oboyan and will be home any time now. In a good way, we should replace the birdhouse and please the birds with a new light. But where can I get it? How nice it would be if bird houses were sold in stores in the spring! Let the guys from some carpentry vocational school do it. Or schoolchildren would do this during Labor Lessons, and at the same time learn carpentry. On Bird Day, people would flock to the store, and everyone would buy a birdhouse. But no, such a product is not on sale yet. But there is nothing to make it yourself: in a modern apartment with all the amenities - no extra boards, no plywood. There is a parcel box lying on the balcony, and even that one is made of wood. Well, the wood slab, of course, will immediately get wet in the rain.

And I went to the construction site to look at something abandoned and unnecessary.

And it’s spring at the construction site: the muddy clay has floated, the wheel ruts and potholes are filled with jelly, and only piles of sand and brick stacks rise like islands among the abyss. It's good that I went in rubber boots.

It was a Sunday, there were no people at the construction site, I climbed and climbed around the empty yard - I couldn’t find anything suitable. True, there was a pile of fresh boards yellowing near the brigade trailer, but they were intended for business, and not for my trifle.

Finally, in the road rut, I found a two-meter block broken in the middle. Someone must have placed it under the car wheels. I pulled the board out of the mud and had just begun to wash it in the melted snowbank under the fence when I heard someone calling out to me:

- Hey, what do you want?

I turned around. A red, fluffy hat stuck out of the trailer, under which it was difficult to make out a face.

- Not allowed for strangers.

Squatting, I continued to wash the board, and then the watchman, leaning on a ribbed reinforcing rod, began to slam his boots in my direction.

“They’re hanging around here...” he inflamed himself. - That’s how I’ll hit you with a crutch...

“Yes, here...” I stood up and pointed to the board. — I picked it up in a rut. Broken...

“I picked it up...” the watchman glared menacingly from under his shaggy hat, which made him look like a homeless Airedale. - It’s said, it’s not allowed.

“The birdhouse wanted to do it,” I justified myself embarrassedly and, wanting to touch my soul and soften the “terrier,” I added for convincing: “My grandson asked.” He pestered: do it and do it...

- I do not know anything! - the “terrier” adamantly interrupted. “One needs it for a farmhouse, the other needs it for a garage.”

- Well, the board has been thrown. And, you see, it’s broken in half. It is held on by one vein. She was lying in the mud.

“You never know... in the mud,” the watchman stepped on the end of the board with his boot. “Even though it’s in the mud, it’s all the same, don’t touch it.”

The situation was humiliating. The whole point is that he is right and I am wrong. I embarrassedly wiped my wet hands on my pants and, out of hopelessness, looked for cigarettes in my pocket. As luck would have it, there was no smoke, some kind of lump got into my fingers, and I mechanically pulled it out into the light. It was a crumpled paper ruble.

- Maybe it will be useful? — I hesitantly held out the find.

“Terrier” paused, as if sniffing the ruble from afar, and suddenly, somehow instantly swallowing what was proposed, “wagged his tail”:

- Just wait. Why do you need this... Wait, we’ll find a better one now. You need a dry one for the birdhouse. “He quickly ran to the trailer and pulled out a piece of fresh board from the pile. - Here, plan it. There is no need to touch it, it is already clean.

“No, thank you,” I refused, picking up the old board from the ground. - I somehow fell in love with this one.

- Oddball! - “Terrier” shook the fur hanging over his eyes. - I’ll give you a new one. But the plane won’t take a wet one, it will get flattened.

- It’s okay, I’ll dry it first. “For some reason, I really liked this crippled board rescued from the mud more, and I threw the board towards the trailer, but before it reached the stack, it slammed hard into the mess itself.

“Listen,” the watchman perked up again, wagged his tail and, approaching, muffled his voice: “Maybe you need cement?” Then come back when it gets dark. Three for a bucket.

- No, no, no need.

I went to the exit, and he, mincingly slurping from behind, suggested after me:

- If you pay in advance, I’ll give you a bucket for a ruble, huh? Where do you live? I'll bring it myself in the evening.

I went out the gate and washed my boots in a noisy spring stream.

E. Nosov “Like a crow got lost on the roof”

March is finally here! A damp warmth blew in from the south. The gloomy motionless clouds split and moved. The sun came out, and the cheerful tambourine chime of drops began to sound across the earth, as if spring was rolling along on an invisible troika.

Outside the window, in the elderberry bushes, the warmed-up sparrows made a fuss. Everyone tried their best, rejoicing that they were alive: “Alive! Alive! Alive!

Suddenly a melted icicle fell from the roof and landed in the very sparrow heap. The flock, with a noise similar to sudden rain, flew to the roof of a neighboring house. There the sparrows sat in a row on the ridge and had just calmed down when a shadow slid across the slope of the roof big bird. The sparrows immediately fell over the ridge.

But the worry was in vain. An ordinary crow landed on the chimney, the same as all other crows in March: with a mud-spattered tail and a tousled scruff. Winter made her forget about feeling self-esteem, about the toilet, and by hook or by crook she struggled to earn her daily bread.

By the way, she was lucky today. In her beak she held a large piece of bread.

Having sat down, she looked around suspiciously: were there any children nearby? And what kind of habit do these brats have of throwing stones? Then she looked around the nearest fences, trees, roofs: there could be other crows there. They won't let you eat in peace either. Now they will flock together and get into a fight.

But it seems that no troubles were foreseen. The sparrows again crowded into the elder tree and from there looked enviously at her piece of bread. But she did not take this scandalous small fry into account.

So, you can have a snack!

The crow placed the piece on the edge of the pipe, stepped on it with both paws and began to chisel. When a particularly large piece broke off, it got stuck in the throat, the crow stretched its neck and twitched its head helplessly. Having swallowed, she again began to look around for a while.

And after another blow with its beak, a large ball of crumb jumped out from under its paws and, falling from the chimney, rolled along the slope of the roof. The crow croaked in annoyance: the bread might fall to the ground and go for nothing to some idlers like the sparrows that perched in the bushes under the window. She even heard one of them say:

- C'mon, I saw it first!

- Chick, don’t lie, I noticed it earlier! - the other one shouted and pecked Chick in the eye.

It turns out that other sparrows saw the crumb of bread rolling on the roof, and therefore a desperate argument arose in the bushes.

But they argued prematurely: the bread did not fall to the ground. He didn't even reach the chute. Halfway there, it caught on the ribbed seam that connects roofing sheets.

The crow made a decision that can be expressed in human words like this: “Let that piece lie there, while I deal with it.”

Having finished pecking at the remains, the crow decided to eat the fallen piece. But this turned out to be no easy task. The roof was quite steep, and when the large, heavy bird tried to get down, it failed. Her paws slid over the iron and she went down, braking with her outstretched tail.

She did not like traveling this way, she took off and sat on the chute. From here the crow tried to get the bread again, climbing from bottom to top. It turned out to be more convenient. Helping herself with her wings, she finally reached the middle of the ramp. But what is it? The bread has disappeared! I looked back, looked up - the roof was empty!

Suddenly, a long-legged jackdaw in a gray scarf landed on the pipe and defiantly clicked its tongue: yes! like, what's going on here? Because of such impudence, even the feathers on the back of the crow’s neck bristled, and its eyes sparkled with an unkind shine. She jumped up and rushed at the uninvited guest.

“What an old fool!” - Chick, who had been following this whole story, said to himself and was the first to jump onto the roof. He saw how the crow, having flown over the gutter, began to climb up not along the strip where the piece of bread lay, but along the adjacent one. She was already very close. Chick’s heart even sank because the crow could guess to cross

to another lane and discover the prey. But this dirty, shaggy bird is very stupid. And Chick secretly counted on her stupidity.

- Chick! - the sparrows shouted, running after him. - Chick! This is unfair!

It turns out that they all saw how the old crow got lost on the roof.

Eduard Shim "Spring"

Light drops call, streams splash, waves rumble like strings... The music is getting louder, more joyful!

It’s me, Spring, riding through the forest today.

I have a team of twelve fastest streams. They spread their foamy manes, rush down the hills, carve a path in the dirty snow. Nothing will stop them!

Fly, my silver horses, hey, hey! Ahead lies a deserted land, fallen asleep in a dead sleep. Who will wake her up, who will call her to life?

I, Spring, will do it.

I have full handfuls of living water. I will sprinkle the earth with this water, and immediately everything around will come to life.

Look - I waved my hand, and - the rivers wake up... So they rise, swell... break green ice above oneself! Look - I waved again, and - all kinds of small living creatures began to scurry away... birds were flying from the distant south... animals were getting out of dark holes! Move over, forest people, you will sleep! I myself am in a hurry and in a hurry and I don’t tell others to lie still. Hurry up, otherwise the violent flood will catch up with you, surround you, and someone will have to swim.

I can't wait, I big way to come. From the southern edge of the earth to the northern, to the very cold seas, I must rush on my fast horses.

And then Frost is stubborn, at night he secretly throws an icy bridle on my horses. He wants to detain me, stop me, turn the living water into dead water.

But I won't give in to him.

In the morning the sun will heat up my horses, they will rush on the road again - and they will destroy all the ice barriers.

And again the light drops call, again the streams splash, again they rumble... He sings living water, and the earth wakes up to new life!

S. Kozlov “Spring Tale”

This has never happened to Hedgehog before. Never before had he felt like singing and having fun for no reason. But now, when the month of May came, he sang and had fun all day long, and if anyone asked him why he was singing and having fun, the Hedgehog just smiled and began to sing even louder.

“That’s because spring has come,” said the Little Bear. - That’s why the Hedgehog is having fun!

And the Hedgehog took a violin from the closet, called two hares and told them:

- Go take your drums from last year and come back to me!

And when the hares came with drums over their shoulders, Hedgehog told them to go behind, and he himself went first, playing the violin.

-Where is he going? - asked the First Hare.

“I don’t know,” answered the Second.

- Should we beat the drums? - he asked the Hedgehog.

“No, not yet,” said the Hedgehog. -Can't you see: I play the violin!..

And so they walked through the entire forest.

At the edge of the forest, in front of a tall pine tree, the Hedgehog stopped, raised his muzzle and, without taking his eyes off Squirrel’s hollow, began to play the most tender melody he knew. It was called: “Sad Mosquito.”

“Pi-pi-pi-pi-i!..” - the violin sang. And the Hedgehog even closed his eyes - he felt so good and sad.

- Why did we stop here? - asked the First Hare.

- Don't you understand? - Hedgehog was surprised. - Red Sun lives here!

- Should we beat the drums?

“Wait,” the Hedgehog grumbled. - I'll tell you when...

And again he closed his eyes and started playing “Sad Mosquito.”

The squirrel was sitting in the hollow and knew that it was the Hedgehog standing under the pine tree, playing “Sad Mosquito” and calling her Red Sun... But she wanted to listen to the violin longer, and so she did not look out of the Hollow.

And the Hedgehog played all day until the evening and, when he was tired, nodded his head to the hares - and they quietly drummed so that the Squirrel knew that the Hedgehog was still standing below and waiting for her to look out.