Works where sounds about summer. Summer tales and stories - review from BM

If you are preparing for the summer, then you are probably looking for good book for vacation. To make your search easier, location with a network of bookstores we have compiled a diverse list, combining all kinds of genres in it: time-tested classics and modern prose; detectives and dystopias; humorous stories and romance novels. So, to your attention 20 fascinating works that will brighten up your summer.

1. Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury

Undoubtedly, the most popular and most revered book about summer remains the incomparable novel Dandelion Wine. Ray Bradbury gives us an amazingly accurate portrayal of the experiences of a little boy during his summer vacation. Every day the main character is fraught with bright moments that affect his character and relationships with others. 12-year-old Douglas Spalding plays in the forest, fantasizes, collects dandelions (the sweet wine from which in winter will remind you of hot days). This summer he will make an unusually important discovery - listening to the birds singing, peering into the twinkling of the stars, for the first time he will truly understand what it means to live!

2. Door to Summer by Robert Heinlein

This creation of Robert Heinlein (although it was written more than half a century ago) still has not lost its position in the top 100 best science fiction works. This is an unusual novel about the desire for retribution and punishment for betrayal. Dan is a brilliant scientist who has everything one could dream of: a successful company, a beautiful bride and a devoted friend. But money unmasks people, revealing their true essence: a friend turned out to be an enemy, and a loved one turned out to be an unfaithful swindler. Having lost everything, Dan wants to punish the offenders. Revenge is known to be a dish best served cold, which is why Dan freezes himself for 30 years in order to strike when everyone forgets about him. Don't let the rather sad premise of the plot scare you, this novel is full of optimism and faith in a brighter future.

3. "Three Men in a Boat, Not Counting the Dog" by Jerome Klapka Jerome

Fans of English humor are probably familiar with the book of the great British satirist. The work is filled with good jokes and funny situations in which the main characters now and then fall. Despite the inexorable course of time, the story remains relevant to this day and, no doubt, our descendants will laugh at the misadventures of the heroes no less than ours. Critics and readers from all over the world recognize it as one of the funniest books of all time. The reason for the unfading popularity was the believable main characters - in them the reader can easily recognize his friends, relatives, and even himself. This is the story of how Jay, George and Harris (on the advice of a doctor) go on a wellness vacation down the Thames, taking with them faithful dog and a lot of unnecessary things.

4. Blackberry Wine, Joanne Harris

For centuries, wine has been considered a sacred drink with special properties. The marvelous combination of berry juice gives us not just a feast of taste, it can expand our consciousness. And this is not sarcasm, it is not at all about unrestrained drunkenness, but rather about a conversation with wine, when you uncork the neck, inhale a wonderful bouquet of aromas, and then savor the magic elixir. Joanne Harris tells you about a writer who lost his muse, forced to face all the vicissitudes of life without inspiration. Fortunately, one day the man finds an unusual wine, which again grants him the ability to create.

5. Turtles Never End by John Green

A fascinating novel by the author of the phenomenal bestseller The Fault in Our Stars will brighten up the evening for all lovers of romance. The main character is a modest girl who hardly finds a common language with others (except for her mischievous friend, Daisy). After learning about the reward for helping to find the missing rich man, Daisy and the quiet Asa decide to unravel the tangle of mysteries surrounding Russell Picket. An already difficult task becomes even more difficult when Russell's son is next to him.

6. Hearts of Three, Jack London

For lovers of sea adventures and treasure hunting, Jack London's novel will be a wonderful summer book. In the center of the plot is a rich descendant of the famous pirate, his distant relative and an amazing girl, whose beauty is hard to resist. The Trinity has a difficult journey to the shores of America, where untold riches are hidden. Surely you watched the Soviet film adaptation with Zhigunov as Henry Morgan. Well, if not, then we recommend that you first read this fascinating book.

7. Lord of the Flies, William Golding

If you prefer serious dystopias over light fiction, then William Golding's chilling novel is perfect for you. "Lord of the Flies" is a sad tale about how quickly a society can lose its civilized appearance. The main characters were the most ordinary children, who were forced by evil fate to create their own tribe with terrible rules. As a result of a plane crash, the boys end up on a desert island. It could become a paradise for them away from the war, but on the hot tropical coast, surrounded by fabulous coral reefs, a terrible and bloody spectacle is about to play out - sad evidence that a real beast lurks in every person (even in an innocent child!).

8. “A unique specimen. Stories of this and that, Tom Hanks

Tom Hanks is not only a talented actor, but also a writer. Not so long ago, his collection of various stories appeared on store shelves: some of them are funny, others are a little sad. A light and pleasant book about love and flirting, about gifts and holidays, in general - about all those small pieces of a huge puzzle called "life". According to the author, he wrote the book in his spare time from filming. "A unique copy", no doubt, will appeal to all admirers of Hanks' talent, whose writing style was noted even by Stephen Fry, a prominent actor and literary figure.

9. “Summer house with a pool”, Hermann Koch

The master of intrigue and the author of world-famous bestsellers (such as "Dinner", "Dear Mr. M.", etc.) will take the reader to France, where his heroes spend their summer holidays. Family consultant Schlosser unexpectedly receives an invitation from the wealthy Rafl Mayer. For a strange reason, the eccentric actor invites Schlosser, along with his wife and daughters, to his summer house with a swimming pool. It is not customary to refuse such offers, but the Schlossers do not even know what surprises this trip will bring them. Relations between guests and hosts become more and more complicated, dragging the characters into a whirlpool of passions.

10. The Beach, Alex Garland

Garland's novel was quite popular in the United States and even became a bestseller, but he gained fame all over the world only thanks to the sensational tape of the same name with DiCaprio. This is a dystopia about finding heaven on earth. In Bangkok, fate brings the protagonist to a young couple of foreigners, just like him, craving solitude. Having heard about a remote and fabulously beautiful beach, the trinity sets off in search of the promised land, where they can hide from the hustle and bustle of the world. They manage to reach their goal, but rest in the bosom wildlife turns into an unexpected discovery - the beach is not deserted at all.

11. “Emmanuel. Roman Holiday, Emmanuel Arsan

In the mid-1970s, the film "Emmanuelle" was released, which struck the audience of that time with frank scenes of a sexual nature. Now we easily talk about sex, considering it an integral part of life, but then any mention of carnal pleasures drove the hypocritical society into the paint, causing an uproar. The film was based on the novel of the same name by Mariah Rolle-Andrian (better known under the pseudonym Emmanuelle Arsan). The fate of the writer was amazing and difficult: being very young, the Thai girl became the concubine of the prince, who later presented her to a French diplomat. These events became the impetus for the creation of a series of books about the sultry beauty. If you're looking for 50 Shades-inspired summer adult fiction, then Roman Holiday is the place to be.

12. Silver Cove, Jojo Moyes

Silver Bay is a piece of heaven on earth, where a small town is comfortably located. The locals lead a normal way of life, so characteristic of the inhabitants of the shores, spoiled by warm weather and seafood. But paradise may come to an end because of a newly arrived tourist. Mike Dormer intends to turn Silver Bay into a giant city of lights by flooding the beaches with rowdy vacationers. But he could not even think that Lisa McCullin would stand in his way. She fled from everyday troubles to a sunny Australian town in order to regain peace of mind and will not allow anyone to destroy her safe haven and take away her last hope for happiness.

13. "Smug Cupid Cruise", Daria Kalinina

If you are far from being a beauty and have sat up in the girls (although all your friends have long acquired a family nest), do not rush to despair. Fortune may still smile at you, bestowing a luxurious groom. This is exactly what happened to Eulalia, whose betrothed turned out to be not only handsome, but also a rich man. Yes, only plans for Honeymoon was not destined to come true: first, someone kills the groom, and then the mother of poor Eulalia. The bridesmaids decide to look into the strange circumstances of the crime.

14. “Kostya + Nika =”, Tamara Kryukova

The touching novel by Kryukova formed the basis of the youth melodrama “Bone Man. Summer time". This is an unusually bright, kind and instructive work about the holidays, about the first pure feelings, about unconditional friendship and the fact that faith and love can create a real miracle. The main characters, at first glance, are completely different from each other, but in fact they have a lot in common. Kostya is a handsome guy from a poor family, and Nika is a weak, sick daughter of a wealthy rake who does not pay attention to the poor cripple. Her life would have been terrible if it had not been for her acquaintance with Kostya.

15. "The Loneliest Man" by Sarah Winman

The novel by Sarah Winman tells about the most ordinary people, whose life did not go the way we would like. At the very beginning of the book, we get acquainted with the parents of the protagonist - with a despotic father and a submissive mother, who only once dared to argue with her husband. Their difficult relationship, no doubt, left its mark on the character of the son, who made many mistakes. At first glance, it may seem that such simple characters (not particularly remarkable) are not worth writing novels about them. However, such books are priceless, because they help the average reader to look at their own lives from the outside, seeing themselves in the heroes of the work.

20. "Luis Mariano, or a Sip of Freedom (with Consequences)", Anna Gavalda

Even the most ordinary family vacation can turn into a fascinating story, especially if the narrator is Anna Gavalda. The French writer fell in love with many readers with her light style and marvelous gift to depict nature so vividly and realistically that it seems as if you are transported to the pages of a book and traveling around France with the characters. A Sip of Freedom is the adventure of one cheerful family who have gathered to spend the weekend together. Two brothers and two sisters seem to return to their mischievous childhood once again, as soon as they are next to each other. A simple and unpretentious plot is actually full of deep meaning, reminding us that a friendly family is the greatest happiness. The creation of Gavalda should definitely be read by those who can not stand holidays in the circle of relatives. Cherish every moment spent with your loved ones!

May this summer bring you the brightest and Nice memories. Enjoy reading!

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

My Russia

Since that summer, I have forever and with all my heart become attached to Central Russia. I do not know a country that has such tremendous lyrical power and is so touchingly picturesque - with all its sadness, calmness and spaciousness - as the middle zone of Russia. The magnitude of this love is difficult to measure. Everyone knows this for themselves. You love every blade of grass drooping from the dew or warmed by the sun, every mug of water from a summer well, every tree above the lake, trembling leaves in the calm, every cock crow, every cloud floating across the pale and high sky. And if I sometimes want to live up to a hundred and twenty years, as grandfather Nechipor predicted, it is only because one life is not enough to experience to the end all the charm and all the healing power of our Central Ural nature.

summer in the forest

Good in the woods on a hot afternoon. What can you not see here! Tall pines hung spiky peaks. Christmas trees bend thorny branches. A curly birch flaunts with fragrant leaves. Trembling gray aspen. A stocky oak spread out carved leaves. A strawberry eye looks out of the grass. A fragrant berry blushes nearby.

Lily of the valley catkins swing between long, smooth leaves. With a strong nose, a woodpecker knocks on the trunk. Oriole screams. A tenacious squirrel flashed its fluffy tail. There is a crackling noise in the distance. Isn't that a bear?

Forest

And then you order to lay the racing droshky and go to the forest for hazel grouse. It's fun to make your way along a narrow path between two walls of high rye. Ears of wheat softly beat you in the face, cornflowers cling to your legs, quails scream all around, the horse runs at a lazy trot. Here is the forest. Shadow and silence. Stately aspens babble high above you; long, hanging branches of birches hardly move; a mighty oak stands like a fighter, next to a beautiful linden. You are driving along a green, shadowy path; big yellow flies hang motionless in the golden air and suddenly fly away; midges curl in a column, brightening in the shade, darkening in the sun; the birds sing peacefully. The golden voice of the robin sounds innocent, chatty joy: it goes to the smell of lilies of the valley. Further, further, deeper into the forest... The forest is dying... An inexplicable silence sinks into the soul; and the surroundings are so drowsy and quiet. But then the wind came up, and the tops rustled like falling waves. Tall grasses grow here and there through last year's brown foliage; mushrooms stand separately under their hats. The white hare suddenly jumps out, the dog rushes after him with a ringing bark.

The aspen forests grew dark in the depths, the forest became a thick cloud, and over the white trunks of birches the newly reddened, but already blackening crowns silently closed. The sky was still light, but it was burning down from the sunset edge. The birds chattered less and less frequently, shaking themselves on the branches before going to sleep. Thrushes quarreled grumpily, and woodcocks seldom flew through the kulizhka, marked in the middle by last year's black snow, dropping their summoning cry and shaking their beaks in harmony with their leather creaking.
... In the evening, which has already swaddled the forest, in the cooling sky, in eared anemones-flowers that have closed their white eyelashes at night, in spreading corydalis, in spiny herbalists, in an anthill, leaning against a stump, in a mouse rustle under a haystack, in every aspen , a birch, a fir-tree - in everything, in everything, the joy of awakening, close to me, was hidden, although it seemed that everything around was going to rest.
It seemed like child's play to me. Nature closed only one eye at night, pretended to be sleeping - after all, the sun had set, and evening had come, and there was supposed to be peace, and sleep, and rest.
The earth sighed, damply fogged the distances, but did all this with a cunning, as if playing at sleep and obedience.
Chu! Mutters in the log, covered with dark bird cherry, a snowy stream; a hare wailed in the aspen forests, having lost its fear and caution in passion; and a raven, a silent raven, flitted about in the fir trees and purred, such a talk, that it seemed that there was not a single living soul in the whole forest kinder and more in love with him. Somewhere a little peasant, a merry cavalryman, is calling; somewhere a black woodpecker darted with its beak along a dry trunk. He pulled and listened to himself - what music! And far, far away, in quiet and deserted fields flooded with puddles, lapwings burst into tears and awakened a groan in the chest of a lonely crane that for the third day walks lanky across the field and calls, calls someone with a sick voice ...
There is no sleep, there is the appearance of it. There is no peace either, and there will be none until the first leaf. Everything lives, rejoices and plays mischief in the homelessness of the forest, enjoying freedom, disorder, a premonition of love.
Mother Earth and all nature wisely, with a condescending grin, are watching their children - soon, very soon all this will end: nests will twist, burrows will be dug, hollows will be found in trees, there will be fights on currents, only feathers will fly, passions will rage. The brotherhood of the forest, careless and reckless will boil over, rage, divide into families and gain a foothold in caring for children and the house. Efficiency and long troubles will enter the world, respectful labor will triumph in the forest...
In the meantime, the emaciated, but well-dressed forest people, who subsist more with songs than with God's food, are impatiently waiting for the first sunbeam, raving about the inevitable impending love. In the veins of all living things, in the cores of trees, in the hearts of birds and animals, the juices and blood of spring flow, throb, roam.

On the field in summer

Fun on the field, free on the wide! To the blue stripe of the distant forest, multi-colored fields seem to run along the hills. The golden rye is agitated; she inhales the strengthening air. Young oats turn blue; blooming buckwheat with red stems, with white-pink, honey flowers, turns white. Farther away from the road, curly peas hid, and behind them a pale green strip of flax with bluish eyes. On the other side of the road, the fields turn black under the flowing steam.

The lark flutters over the rye, and the sharp-winged eagle vigilantly looks from above: he sees the noisy quail in the thick rye, he sees the field mouse, as she hurries into her hole with a grain that has fallen from a ripe ear. Hundreds of invisible grasshoppers crackle everywhere.

morning rays

A red sun swam up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake the earth.
The first beam flew and hit the lark. The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: “Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped its wings and sang: ku-ka-re-ku! The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms. The fourth beam hit the hive. A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the nursery, on the little lazy boy's bed: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

Dostoevsky Fyodor Mikhailovich

I remembered the month of August in our village: the day was dry and clear, but somewhat cold and windy; summer is running out, and soon I have to go to Moscow again to miss French lessons all winter, and I am so sorry to leave the village. I went behind the threshing floor and, descending into the ravine, climbed up to Losk - that was the name we had for the thick bushes on the other side of the ravine, all the way to the roshi. I am completely immersed in my work, I am busy: I break out a walnut whip for myself to whip frogs with it; whips of hazel are so beautiful and so fragile as compared to birch. I am also interested in insects and bugs, I collect them, there are very elegant ones; I also love small, agile, red-yellow lizards with black spots, but I'm afraid of snakes. However, snakes come across much less often than lizards. There are few mushrooms here, for mushrooms you have to go to the birch forest, and I'm going to go. And I loved nothing in my life so much as the forest with its mushrooms and wild berries, with its insects and birds, hedgehogs and squirrels, with its damp smell of decayed leaves that I love so much.

Nikita's childhood

(Excerpts)

The languor and heat intensified. The birds fell silent, the flies hung on the windows. By evening, the low sun had disappeared into a scorching haze. Twilight came quickly. It was completely dark - not a single star. The barometer needle firmly indicated - "storm" ...
And in the dead silence, the willows on the pond were the first to rustle, muffled and important, the frightened cries of rooks flew up. The noise grew louder and more solemn, and finally a strong gust of wind crushed the acacias near the balcony, smelled of a fragrant perfume in the door, brought in a few dry leaves, a fire flickered in the frosted ball of the lamp, the rushing wind whistled and howled in the chimneys and in the corners of the house.
Somewhere a window slammed, broken glass rang. The whole garden was noisy now, trunks creaked, invisible peaks swayed.
And now - the night opened up with a white-blue dazzling light, for a moment low-leaning trees appeared in black outlines. And again darkness. And it crashed, the whole sky collapsed. Behind the noise, no one heard how drops of rain fell and flowed on the windows. Rain poured down - strong, plentiful, a stream.
The smell of moisture, preli, rain and grass filled the hall...

Bezhin meadow

It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happens when the weather has settled for a long time. From early morning the sky is clear; the morning dawn does not burn with fire: it spreads with a gentle blush. The sun - not fiery, not hot, as during a sultry drought, not dull-purple, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - peacefully emerges from under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and plunges into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their brilliance is like the brilliance of forged silver ... But here again the playful rays gushed, - both cheerfully and majestically, as if taking off, the mighty luminary rises. Around noon there usually appear many round high clouds, golden gray, with delicate white edges. Like islands scattered along an endlessly overflowing river flowing around them with deeply transparent sleeves of even blue, they hardly budge; further, towards the sky, they shift, crowd, the blue between them can no longer be seen; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all permeated through and through with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change all day and is the same all around; nowhere does it get dark, the thunderstorm does not thicken; except in some places bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then a barely noticeable rain is sown. By evening, these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and indefinite as smoke, fall in rosy puffs against the setting sun; in the place where it set as calmly as it calmly ascended into the sky, a scarlet radiance stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star will light up on it. On such days the colors are all softened; light, but not bright; everything bears the stamp of some touching meekness.

On such days the heat is sometimes very strong, sometimes even "floating" over the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes the accumulated heat, and whirlwinds - cycles - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk along the roads through the arable land in high white pillars. in dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, buckwheat; even an hour before night you don't feel damp. The farmer wants such weather for harvesting grain ...

Summer July morning: an oak forest stands like a wall and shines, reddens in the sun; It's still fresh, but the proximity of the heat is already felt.
And how good this same forest is late autumn... There is no wind, and there is no sun, no light, no shadow, no movement, no noise; in the soft air there is an autumn smell, like the smell of wine; a thin mist stands in the distance... the earth is elastic underfoot... the chest breathes calmly...

In the early summer morning, go to the forest, to the river that flows quietly between the trees.
Take care of food: take bread and butter with you. Near the river, sit down on a mossy bank, undress and throw yourself into the cold water.
Don't be afraid to catch a cold. Discover willpower. After swimming, find an open spot and lie down in the hot sun. Do this daily and you will be healthy. And a summer, July morning!.. You move apart a wet bush - you will be covered with the accumulated warm smell of the night. Through dense hazel bushes, entangled with tenacious grass, you descend to the bottom of the ravine. Precisely: a spring lurks under the very cliff... You throw yourself on the ground, you get drunk, but you are too lazy to move, You are in the shade, you breathe odorous dampness; you well...

Summer evening

In the distant and pale depths of the sky, stars were just emerging; in the west it was still red - there the sky seemed clearer and cleaner; the semicircle of the moon shone gold through the black mesh of the weeping birch. Other trees either stood like gloomy giants, with a thousand gaps like eyes, or merged into continuous gloomy bulks. Not a single leaf moved; the upper branches of lilacs and acacias seemed to be listening to something and stretched out in the warm air. The house grew dark near; long, illuminated shadows were drawn on it in patches of reddish light. The evening was mild and quiet; but a restrained, passionate sigh seemed to be in this silence.

Thunderstorm in the forest

Tolstoy Alexey Nikolaevich But what is this? The wind suddenly came up and rushed; the air trembled all around: is it not thunder? You are coming out of a ravine... what is that lead line in the sky? Is the heat thickening? Is the cloud coming? But then the lightning flashed weakly ... Eh, yes, this is a thunderstorm! The sun is still shining brightly all around: you can still hunt. But the cloud is growing; its front edge is extended by a sleeve, tilted by a vault. Grass, bushes, everything suddenly darkened ... Hurry! over there, it seems, you can see a hay shed ... rather ... You ran, entered ...
What is rain? What are lightning bolts? In some places, water dripped onto the fragrant hay through the thatched roof ... But then the sun began to play again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles all around, how fresh and liquid the air, how it smells of wild strawberries and mushrooms!..

The newly risen sun flooded the whole grove with a strong, though not bright, light; dewdrops glittered everywhere, in some places large drops suddenly lit up and reddened; everything breathed freshness, life and that innocent solemnity of the first moments of the morning, when everything is already so bright and still so silent. All that was heard was that the friable voices of larks over the distant fields, and in the grove itself two or three birds, in a hurry, brought out their short knees and seemed to listen afterwards how it turned out for them. The wet earth smelled of a healthy, strong smell, clean, light air shimmered with cool jets.

The weather was beautiful, even more beautiful than before; but the heat did not subside. Across the clear sky, high and sparse clouds barely rushed, yellow-white, like late spring snow, flat and oblong, like lowered sails. Their patterned edges, fluffy and light as cotton, slowly but visibly changed with every moment; they melted, those clouds, and no shadow fell from them. We wandered around with Kasyan for a long time. Young offspring, which had not yet managed to stretch out above a arshin, surrounded blackened, low stumps with their thin, smooth stems; round spongy growths with gray borders, the very growths from which tinder is boiled, clung to these stumps; strawberries let out their pink tendrils over them: mushrooms immediately sat closely in families. Feet constantly tangled and clung to the long grass, satiated with the hot sun; everywhere there were ripples in the eyes from the sharp metallic sparkle of young, reddish leaves on the trees; blue clusters of “crane peas” were scattered everywhere, golden cups of “night blindness”, half purple, half yellow flowers Ivan da Mary; in some places, near the abandoned paths, on which the tracks of the wheels were indicated by stripes of red fine grass, heaps of firewood towered, darkened from the wind and rain, stacked in sazhens; a faint shadow fell from them in oblique quadrangles - there was no other shadow anywhere. A light breeze either woke up or subsided: it suddenly blows right in your face and seems to play out - everything makes a merry noise, nods and moves around, the flexible ends of the ferns gracefully sway - you will be delighted with it ... but now it froze again, and everything again quieted down. Some grasshoppers tremble in unison, as if embittered - and this incessant, sour and dry sound is tiring. He goes to the relentless heat of noon; it is as if he was born by him, as if summoned by him from the hot earth.

A summer, July morning! Who, except the hunter, has experienced how gratifying it is to wander through the bushes at dawn? A green line lies the trace of your feet on the dewy, whitened grass. You will move apart a wet bush - you will be showered with the accumulated warm smell of the night; the air is full of fresh bitterness of wormwood, honey of buckwheat and "porridge"; in the distance, an oak forest stands like a wall and glistens and reddens in the sun; It's still fresh, but the proximity of the heat is already felt. Head languidly spinning from an excess of fragrance. There is no end to the shrub... somewhere in the distance ripening rye turns yellow, buckwheat turns red in narrow stripes. Here the cart creaked; A peasant makes his way at a step, puts the horse in the shade in advance ... You greeted him, walked away - the sonorous clang of a scythe is heard behind you ... The sun is higher and higher. Grass dries quickly. It's already hot. An hour passes, then another... The sky darkens around the edges; the still air breathes with prickly heat. "Where would you like to get drunk here, brother?" - you ask the mower. "And there is a well in the ravine."

Through dense hazel bushes, entangled with tenacious grass, you descend to the bottom of the ravine. Precisely: under the very cliff there is a source; an oak bush greedily spread its palmate boughs over the water; large silvery bubbles, swaying, rise from the bottom, covered with fine velvet moss. You throw yourself on the ground, you are drunk, but you are too lazy to move. You are in the shade, you breathe odorous dampness; you feel good, but against you the bushes become hot and seem to turn yellow in the sun. But what is it? The wind suddenly came up and rushed; the air trembled all around: is it not thunder? You are coming out of a ravine... what is that lead line in the sky? Is the heat thickening? Is a cloud approaching?.. But then the lightning flashed faintly... Eh, yes, it's a thunderstorm! The sun is still shining brightly all around: you can still hunt. But the cloud is growing: its front edge is stretched out by a sleeve, tilted by a vault. Grass, bushes - everything suddenly darkened ... Hurry! There, it seems, you can see a hay barn ... hurry! You ran, entered... What's the rain like? What are lightning bolts? In some places, water dripped onto the fragrant hay through the thatched roof ... But then the sun began to play again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles all around, how fresh and liquid the air, how it smells of wild strawberries and mushrooms!..

But then the evening comes. The dawn blazed with fire and engulfed half the sky. The sun is setting. The air nearby is somehow especially transparent, like glass; in the distance lies a soft steam, warm in appearance; together with the dew, a scarlet gleam falls on the glades, until recently drenched in streams of liquid gold; long shadows ran from the trees, from the bushes, from the high stacks of hay... The sun had set; the star has lit up and trembles in the fiery sea of ​​the sunset... Here it is turning pale; blue sky; separate shadows disappear, the air is filled with haze. It's time to go home, to the village, to the hut where you spend the night. Throwing your gun over your shoulders, you are walking fast, despite your fatigue ... And meanwhile, night is falling; for twenty steps you can no longer see anything; the dogs barely turn white in the darkness. Here, above the black bushes, the edge of the sky becomes vaguely clear. What is this? Fire?.. No, it's the moon rising.

The heat forced us to enter the grove. I rushed under a tall hazel bush, over which a young, slender maple spread its light branches.

Kasyan sat down on the fat horses of a felled birch. I looked at him. The leaves swayed feebly in the air, and their liquid-greenish shadows quietly glided back and forth over his frail body, somehow wrapped in a dark coat, over his small face. He did not raise his head. Bored with his silence, I lay down on my back and began to admire the peaceful play of tangled leaves in the distant bright sky. It's amazingly pleasant to lie on your back in the forest and look up! It seems to you that you are looking into the bottomless sea, that it spreads wide under you, that the trees do not rise from the ground, but, like the roots of huge plants, descend, fall vertically into those glassy clear waves; the leaves on the trees either shine through with emeralds, or thicken into a golden, almost black green. Somewhere far away, ending with itself a thin branch, a separate leaf stands motionless on a blue patch of transparent sky, and next to it another sways, resembling the play of a fish pool with its movement, as if the movement is unauthorized and not produced by the wind. White round clouds quietly float and quietly pass like magical underwater islands - and then, suddenly, all this sea, this radiant air, these branches and leaves bathed in the sun - everything will stream, tremble with a fleeting brilliance, and a fresh, trembling babble will rise, similar to endless fine sand of a sudden swell. You don't move - you look; and it is impossible to express in words how joyful, and quiet, and sweet it becomes in the heart. You look: that deep, pure azure excites a smile on your lips, innocent, like itself, like clouds across the sky, and as if together with them, in a slow string, happy memories pass through your soul, and everything seems to you that your eyes are leaving further and further and pulls you along with it into that calm, shining abyss, and it is impossible to break away from this height, from this depth...

("Taras Bulba")

The further the steppe became more beautiful. Then the whole south, all that space ... up to the very Black Sea was a green, virgin desert ... Nothing in nature could be better. The entire surface of the earth seemed to be a green-golden ocean, over which millions of different colors splashed ... an ear of wheat, brought in God knows where, poured into the thick ... The air was filled with a thousand different bird whistles. The hawks stood motionless in the sky, spreading their wings and motionlessly fixing their eyes on the grass... A gull rose from the grass with measured strokes and luxuriously bathed in the blue waves of the air. There she disappeared in the sky and only flickers like one black dot; there she turned over her wings and flashed before the sun ... Damn you, steppes, how good you are! .. "

How agonizing are those hot hours when noon shines in silence and heat.
... Everything seems to have died; only above, in the depths of heaven, a lark trembles, and silvery songs fly along the airy steps to the land in love, and occasionally the cry of a seagull or the ringing voice of a quail resounds in the steppe. Lazy and soulless, as if walking without a goal, the cloudy oaks stand, and the dazzling strokes of the sun's rays light up entire picturesque masses of leaves, throwing a shadow dark as night over the others, over which gold spurts only with a strong wind. Emeralds, topazes, yahontas of ethereal insects are pouring over the motley vegetable gardens, overshadowed by old sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and roam through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, pears bent over from the weight of the fruits: the sky, its pure mirror-river in green, proudly raised frames.

The forest is noisy

Korolenko Vladimir Galaktionovich

The forest is noisy...

There was always a noise in this forest - even, drawn out, like the echo of a distant ringing, calm and vague, like a quiet song without words, like a vague memory of the past. There was always a noise in it, because it was an old, dense forest, which had not yet been touched by the saw and ax of the forest dealer. Tall hundred-year-old pines with mighty red trunks stood in a gloomy army, tightly closed at the top with green peaks. It was quiet below, smelling of tar; through the canopy of pine needles, with which the soil was strewn, bright ferns made their way, splendidly spread out with a bizarre fringe and stood motionless, without rustling their leaves. In damp corners, green grasses stretched in tall stems; white porridge bowed her heavy heads, as if in quiet languor. And above, endlessly and without interruption, the noise of the forest was drawn, like the vague sighs of an old forest.

What is the dew on the grass

When on a sunny morning, in summer, you go to the forest, then in the fields, in the grass, you can see diamonds. All these diamonds shine and shimmer in the sun in different ways. flowers and yellow, both red and blue.

When you come closer and see what it is, you will see that these are drops of dew gathered in the triangular leaves of grass and glisten in the sun. The leaf of this grass inside is shaggy and fluffy, like velvet.

And the drops roll on the leaf and do not wet it.

When you inadvertently pick off a leaf with a dewdrop, the drop will roll down like a ball of light, and you will not see how it slips past the stem. It used to be that you would tear off such a cup, slowly bring it to your mouth and drink a dewdrop, and this dewdrop seemed tastier than any drink.

Burdock

I returned home through the fields. It was the middle of summer. The meadows were cleared and they were just about to mow the rye.

There is a lovely selection of colors for this time of year: red, white, pink, fragrant, fluffy porridge ... milky white, with a bright yellow center "love-not-love" with its rotten spicy stink; yellow colza with its wise smell; high-standing purple and white tulip-shaped bells; creeping peas; yellow, red, pink, purple, neat scabioses; with a slightly pink fluff and a slightly audible pleasant smell of plantain cornflowers, bright blue in the sun and in youth, and blue and blushing in the evening and in old age; and delicate, almond-scented, immediately withering, dodder flowers.

I picked up a large bouquet of different flowers and was walking home when I noticed in a ditch a wonderful raspberry, in full bloom, burdock of the variety that we call "Tatar" and which is diligently mowed, and when it is accidentally mowed, mowers are thrown out of the hay so as not to put your hands on him. I took it into my head to pick this burdock and put it in the middle of the bouquet. I climbed down into the ditch and, having chased away the hairy bumblebee that had dug into the middle of the flower and sweetly and languidly fallen asleep there, I began to pluck the flower. But it was very difficult: not only did the stem prick from all sides, even through the handkerchief with which I wrapped my hand, it was so terribly strong that I fought with it for about five minutes, tearing the fibers one at a time. When I finally tore off the flower, the stem was already all in tatters, and the flower no longer seemed so fresh and beautiful. In addition, due to its rudeness and coarseness, it did not fit the delicate flowers of the bouquet. I regretted that in vain I had ruined a flower that was good in its place, and I threw it away. “What, however, is the energy and strength of life,” I thought, remembering the efforts with which I tore off the flower.

How he strongly defended and sold his life dearly.

young growth

Currant bushes, willows, alders and forest raspberries huddled together along the banks of the river; green, juicy sedge entered the very water, where it shone and bent under the pressure of the river stream, as if alive. In some places, logs sticking out of the ground were rotting, and young shoots of honeysuckle were already crawling out from under them; immediately the pink shoots of Ivan-tea swayed and swampy yellow flowers dazzled. Near the old stumps, like expensive lace, fragrant meadowsweet clung with its yellow caps. Near the forest stretched out a whole island of young aspen, shimmering in the sun with its ever-moving, metallic foliage, and further on, a birch forest rose like a green wall and left the eyes along the river. But the most beautiful were the young spruce and birch trees that grew along the dumps and dumps: they looked like a crowd of children who ran out to the steepness with all their might and from here admired everything that was lower. It seemed that it was the youth of the forest slyly whispering among themselves, happy with a sunny day and with the fact that it only gives full of energy youth.

Summer nights in the Urals

At the end of July, summer nights in the Urals are especially beautiful: a bottomless blue depth looks at you from above, flickering with intense phosphorescent light, so that individual stars and constellations are somehow lost in the general light tone; the air is quiet and sensitively catches the slightest sound; sleeps in the mist forest; without moving, water stands; even the birds of the night appear and disappear in the frozen air without sound, like shadows on the screen of a magic lantern.

At the beginning of August

The first days of August have arrived. Two cold matinees fell, and the forest flowers that had not had time to bloom faded, and the grass became covered with yellow spots. The sun no longer shone so brightly from the blue sky, it rose later and went to bed earlier; a gusty wind rushed in from nowhere, shook the tops of the trees, and quickly disappeared, leaving a cooling jet in the air. The joys of the short northern summer were coming to an end, and the endless autumn with its torrential rains, bad weather, dark nights, mud and cold was approaching menacingly. I spent almost all my free time in the forest, hunting; coniferous forest with the onset of autumn, it became even better and seemed to be fresher every day.

Mowing

On a beautiful summer day, when the sun's rays had long since swallowed up the night freshness, my father and I drove up to the so-called "Hidden kolk", consisting for the most part of young and already quite thick, straight lindens, like a pine, - kolku, long commanded and saved with particular rigor. As soon as we climbed up to the forest from the ravine, a dull, unusual noise began to reach my ears: now some kind of jerky and measured rustle, for a moment interspersed and re-emerging, then some kind of sonorous metallic shuffling. I now asked: "What is it?" - "But you'll see!" replied the father, smiling. But nothing was visible behind the young and dense aspen growth; when we rounded it, a wonderful sight struck my eyes. About forty peasants mowed down, lining up in one line, as if by a thread; scythes flew up brightly in the sun, and thick cut grass lay in orderly rows. Having passed a long row, the mowers suddenly stopped and began to sharpen their braids with something, merrily exchanging joking speeches among themselves, as one could guess from the loud laughter: it was still impossible to hear the words. Metallic sounds occurred when the braids were sharpened with wooden spatulas coated with clay and sand, which I found out later. When we drove up close and my father said the usual greeting: "God help!" or “God help you”, loud: “Thank you, father Alexei Stepanovich!” the clearing was announced, echoed in the ravine, and again the peasants continued to swing their scythes widely, deftly, easily and freely! There was something kind and cheerful in this work, so I did not suddenly believe when they told me that it was also very difficult. What a light air, what a wonderful smell wafted from the nearby forest and the grass mowed early in the morning, abounding in many fragrant flowers, which had already begun to wither from the hot sun and emit a particularly pleasant aromatic smell! Untouched grass stood like a wall, waist high, and the peasants said: “What grass! Bear bear!” Jackdaws and crows were already walking along the green, high rows of cut grass, flying in from the forest where their nests were located. I was told that they pick up various insects, bugs and worms, which previously hid in the thick grass, but now ran in full view over the overturned stems of plants and on the bare ground. As I got closer, I saw with my own eyes that this was absolutely true. Moreover, I noticed that the bird was also pecking at the berries. In the grass the strawberries were still green, but unusually large; in open places, she already kept pace. From the mowed rows, my father and I collected large bunches of such berries, from which some came across larger than an ordinary nut; many of them, although not yet reddened, were already soft and tasty.

grassy sea

From the very first step, lush grasses enveloped us from all sides. They were so high and so thick that a person seemed to be drowning in them. Below underfoot - grass, in front and behind - grass, from the sides - also grass, and only at the top - blue sky. It seemed as if we were walking on the bottom of a grassy sea. This impression became even stronger when, having climbed some hummock, I saw how the steppe was agitated. With timidity and apprehension, I again plunged into the grass and walked on. It is as easy to get lost in these places as in the forest. We lost our way several times, but immediately hurried to correct our mistake. Finding some bump, I climbed it and tried to see something ahead. Dersu grabbed the wormwood with his hands and bent it to the ground. I looked ahead - everywhere in front of me was an endless grassy sea.

In the forest

We go further and further into the forest, into the bluish haze, cut by the golden rays of the sun. In the warmth and comfort of the forest, some special noise quietly breathes, dreamy and exciting dreams. The crossbills creak, the tits ring, the cuckoo laughs, the oriole whistles, the jealous song of the chaffinch sounds incessantly, the strange bird squints thoughtfully. Emerald frogs jump underfoot; between the roots, raising his golden head, lies already and guards them. The squirrel clicks, its fluffy tail flickers in the paws of the pines; you see incredibly much, you want to see more and go further.

Night fire in the forest

And at night, the forest took on an indescribably eerie, fabulous look: its blue wall grew higher, and in the depths of it, between the black trunks, red, furry animals rushed madly, jumped. They crouched to the ground to the roots and, hugging the trunks, climbed up like dexterous monkeys, fought with each other, breaking branches, whistled, hooted and hooted.

Infinitely various figures of fire were built between the black trunks, and the dance of these figures was indefatigable. Here, clumsily bouncing, somersaulting, a red bear rolls out to the edge of the forest and, losing shreds of fiery wool, climbs up the trunk, as if for honey, and reaching the crown, embraces its branches with a shaggy embrace of crimson paws, sways on them, showering needles with a rain of golden sparks; here the beast easily jumped onto a neighboring tree, and where it was, on the black, bare branches, blue candles were lit in a multitude, purple mice run along the branches, and, with their bright movement, it is clearly visible how intricately the blue hazes smoke and how crawling up and down the bark of the trunk, hundreds of fire ants.

Sometimes the fire crawled out of the forest, stealthily, like a cat hunting for a bird, and suddenly, raising its sharp muzzle, looked around - what to grab? Or suddenly a sparkling, fiery oatmeal bear appeared and crawled along the ground on its stomach, spreading its paws wide, raking the grass into its huge red mouth.

Native places

I love the Meshchersky region because it is beautiful, although all its charm is not revealed immediately, but very slowly, gradually.

At first glance, this is a quiet and uncomplicated land under a dim sky. But the more you get to know it, the more, almost to the point of pain in your heart, you begin to love this extraordinary land. And if I have to defend my country, then somewhere in the depths of my heart I will know that I am also defending this piece of land, which taught me to see and understand the beautiful, no matter how unprepossessing it may be, this forest pensive land, love for who will never be forgotten, just as first love is never forgotten.

summer thunderstorms

Summer thunderstorms pass over the earth and fall below the horizon. Lightnings either strike the ground with a direct blow, or blaze on black clouds.

A rainbow sparkles over the damp distance. Thunder rolls, rumbles, growls, rumbles, shakes the earth.

summer heat

It was hot. We walked through pine forests. The bears were screaming. It smelled of pine bark and strawberries. A hawk hung motionless over the tops of the pines. The forest was heated with heat. We rested in thick bowls of aspens and birches. They breathed the smell of grass and roots. In the evening we went to the lake. The stars glittered in the sky. Ducks with a heavy whistle flew to the lodging for the night.

Zarnitsa... The very sound of this word, as it were, conveys the slow night brilliance of distant lightning.
Lightning occurs most often in July, when the bread is ripening. Therefore, there is a popular belief that the lightning "bury the bread" - illuminate it at night - and this makes the bread pour faster.
Next to the lightning stands in the same poetic row the word dawn - one of the most beautiful words in the Russian language.
This word is never spoken out loud. It is impossible even to imagine that it could be shouted. Because it is akin to that settled silence of the night, when a clear and faint blue is occupied over the thickets of a village garden. "Unsightly", as they say about this time of day among the people.
In this glowing hour, the morning star burns low above the earth itself. The air is as pure as spring water.
In the dawn, in the dawn, there is something maidenly, chaste. At dawn, the grass is washed with dew, and in the villages it smells of warm fresh milk. And the shepherd's pity sing in the fogs beyond the outskirts.
Lights up quickly. In a warm house, silence, dusk. But then squares of orange light fall on the log walls, and the logs light up like layered amber. The sun is rising.
Dawn happens not only in the morning, but also in the evening. We often confuse two concepts - sunset and evening dawn.
Evening dawn begins when the sun has already set over the edge of the earth. Then she takes possession of the fading sky, pours over it a multitude of colors - from pure gold to turquoise - and slowly passes into late twilight and into night.
Corncrakes scream in the bushes, quails beat, bitterns hum, the first stars burn, and the dawn lingers for a long time over the distances and fogs.

Flowers

Innocent blue-eyed forget-me-nots peeped out from the mint thickets near the water's edge. And further, behind the hanging loops of blackberries, wild rowan blossomed along the slope with tight yellow inflorescences. Tall red clover mingled with mousepeas and bedstraws, and above all this closely crowded community of flowers rose a gigantic thistle. He stood firmly up to his waist in the grass and looked like a knight in armor with steel spikes on his elbows and kneecaps.
The heated air above the flowers "shimmered", swayed, and from almost every cup protruded the striped belly of a bumblebee, bee or wasp. Like white and lemon leaves, always at random, butterflies flew.
Farther on, hawthorn and rose hips rose like a high wall. Their branches were so intertwined that it seemed as if fiery rosehip flowers and white hawthorn flowers smelling of almonds had by some miracle blossomed on the same bush.
The wild rose stood with large flowers turned towards the sun, elegant, completely festive, covered with many sharp buds. Its flowering coincided with the most short nights- on our Russian, slightly northern nights, when the nightingales rattle in the dew all night long, the greenish dawn does not leave the horizon and in the deadest time of the night it is so light that the mountain tops of the clouds are clearly visible in the sky.

blessed rain

In early June, it often rained, unusual for summer: quiet, calm in autumn, without thunderstorms, without wind. In the mornings, an ash-gray cloud crawled out from the west, from behind distant hillocks. It grew, expanded, occupied half the sky, its dark underwings darkened ominously, and then descended so that its lower flakes, transparent as muslin, clung to the roof of a windmill standing in the steppe, on a mound; somewhere high and good-natured, in a barely audible octave, thunder spoke, and blessed rain descended.

Warm, like splashes of steamed milk, the drops fell vertically onto the ground hidden in a foggy silence, swelling like white bubbles on the wet, foamy puddles. And this sparse summer rain was so quiet and peaceful that the flowers did not bow their heads, even the hens in the yards did not seek shelter from it. With businesslike preoccupation they rummaged around the sheds and the damp, blackened wickerhouses in search of food, and the wet and slightly lost their majestic posture, despite the rain, crowing at length and in turn. Their cheerful voices merged with the chirping of sparrows shamelessly swimming in puddles and the squeak of swallows, as if falling in a swift flight to the smell of rain and dust, affectionately beckoning the earth.

In the steppe, the wheatgrass rose above the knee. Behind the pasture bloomed sweet clover. By the evening the honey smell spread all over the farm. Winter grains stood up to the horizon in a solid dark green wall, spring grains delighted the eye with unusually friendly seedlings. Serosopes densely bristled with arrows of young shoots of corn. By the end of the first half of June, the weather was firmly established, not a single cloud appeared in the sky, and the steppe, blooming, washed by rains, marvelously painted under the sun! She was now like a young breastfeeding mother - unusually beautiful, subdued, a little tired and all shining with a beautiful, happy and pure smile of motherhood.

Rain in the forest

A large dark cloud rose, covering half the sky. Thunder rumbled.
A strong whirlwind swept through the forest tops. Trees rustled, swayed, plucked leaves swirled over the path. Heavy drops fell. Lightning flashed, thunder struck.
Drop by drop, warm torrential rain poured down.
After a heavy rain, there is a strong smell of mushrooms in the forest. Strong mushrooms, pink wet russula are hiding in the grass near the path, fly agarics are blushing. Like little guys, black-headed boletus boletus crowds.
Between the white trunks of birches, a young, frequent spruce forest has grown densely. Fragrant milk mushrooms and red-headed aspen mushrooms are hidden here.
And in the forest clearings the first mushrooms appeared, golden chanterelles turn yellow.

Summer has begun

In the distance it thumped deafly - dark heavy clouds crawled over the village. They crawled slowly, menacingly swirling and powerfully growing to the very horizon.
The village became dark and silent. Even the cattle fell silent in anticipation. And suddenly a deafening roar shook the ground.
Doors and gates slammed all over the village. People ran out into the street, put the tubs under the streams and, in the pouring rain, joyfully called to each other. Barefoot children rushed through the puddles like foals, the short northern summer began.

Heat

August brought dry wind with him. The heat has begun. In the mornings, the dew was not seized by a white haze, streams and rivers dried up, and by noon the leaves withered on the trees. In the sultry, white-hot sky, an ash-gray buzzard darted around for days on end, crying piercingly and sadly:
"Pee-it! .. Pi-it! .." Summer is over.
The short northern summer is over.
A squirrel came out on the home pine forests, still red, not faded. With the first snow, when autumn passes over it like a blue fog, the squirrel will migrate into the deaf sesame, onto a fir cone.
Fog, fog over the village...
As if white clouds descended to the ground, as if rivers of milk spilled under the window.
By noon, the fog will settle, the sun will emerge for a while, and you will see cranes in the sky. They fly in their well-known wedge, mournfully and plaintively cooing, as if apologizing: we, they say, are flying to warm lands, and you are here to cuckoo.

TALES AND STORIES ABOUT SUMMER FOR CHILDREN

Story: I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov "Summer in the forest"

Nice and free in the summer in the forest.
The trees are covered with green leaves. It smells of mushrooms, ripe, fragrant strawberries.
Birds sing loudly. Orioles whistle, cuckoo, flying from tree to tree, restless cuckoos. Nightingales fill the bushes above the streams.
Animals roam under the trees in the forest. Bears roam, moose graze, cheerful squirrels frolic. A lynx robber is hiding in the dark thicket.
At the very top of the old spruce, in dense branches, goshawks-hawks built a nest. Lots of forest secrets fabulous wonders they see from a high dark peak.

summer dawn

The warm summer night is over. The dawn breaks over the forest.
A light mist still hangs over the forest fields. Cool dew covers the leaves of the trees.
The songbirds have already woken up. The cuckoo cuckooed and choked awake.
“Ku-ku! Kuk-kuk-kuk!" Her chirping sounded loudly through the forest.
Soon it will rise, the warm sun will dry the dew. Greeting the sun, the birds will sing even louder and the cuckoo will crow. Fog is rising over the meadow.
Here a tired hare is returning from a night fishing.
The little bunny has many enemies. A cunning fox chased him, a terrible owl frightened him, a lynx-robber caught him.
A little bunny left all the enemies.

forest watchmen

The most sensitive and intelligent bird is the raven.
Clever crows, vigilant forest watchmen, see everything, smell everything.
Here, with prey in its teeth, burying itself in the bushes, a wolf ran through the forest. The vigilant crows saw the wolf, circled over the robber, shouted at the top of their raven throat:
"Karrr! Karrr! Beat the robber! Beat the robber!
The wolf heard this cry, pressed his ears, and quickly ran to his lair.
On the shore of a forest lake, crows noticed a fox. Quietly the gossip made her way into the hole. Ruined many bird nests, offended many chicks.
They saw crows and a fox:
"Karrr! Karrr! Catch, catch the robber!
Frightened, the fox hid in the dark forest. He knows that sensitive forest watchmen will not let her destroy nests, offend little chicks.

Fox

A fox dug a deep hole in a pine forest.
Even in early spring, blind little fox cubs were born here, in a hole.
Every day the fox leaves for prey, leaves cubs in the hole. The red fox cubs grew up, got stronger, began to emerge from the tight dark hole. It is free to play and frolic in the forest under the trees, somersaulting on soft moss.
Buried behind the trees, the old fox returns with prey.
Hungry fox cubs will greedily attack the prey.
They grow quickly, lively fox cubs eat a lot.

Above a river

Along the banks of the river is a pine forest.
The wind blows over the river. Noisy waves splash on the shore. White-haired lambs walk along the waves.
A huge white-tailed eagle soared over the waves. Holds a live, trembling fish in its claws.
Vigilant eagles are able to catch fish. From a great height, they rush to the waves like a stone, tenaciously seizing prey.
In the largest forests, on the tops of tall trees, eagles nest. A lot of prey is brought to gluttonous chicks.
Vigilant and strong eagles see far. Under the very clouds they hover on clear days. They can see well where the hare hid in the grass, with his ears flattened, where the fish splashed over the waves, where the cautious capercaillie mother led her brood to the forest clearing.

Summer night

It's a warm night in the forest
The moon shines on a clearing surrounded by forest. Night grasshoppers are chirping, nightingales are pouring in the bushes.
Long-legged, nimble corncrakes cry without rest in the tall grass.
“Whoa, whoa! Whoops, whoops! Whoops, whoops!" their loud hoarse cry is heard from all sides.
Bats fly silently through the air.
At the edge of the path, green lanterns of fireflies lit up here and there.
Quiet in the night forest. A hidden forest brook murmurs a little audibly. Fragrant smell of night beauties - violets.
Here he hobbled, crunched with a knot, going to fish, a white hare. Casting a light shadow on the clearing, an owl flew by and disappeared.
In the depths of the forest suddenly hooted and laughed, as in a terrible fairy tale, a scarecrow owl.
The eagle owl was frightened, woke up in the nest, a small forest bird squeaked timidly ...

Slovak folk tale "The sun is visiting"

One day a big cloud covered the sky. The sun did not shine for three days.

The chickens are bored without sunlight.
Where did the sun go? - They say. “We need to get him back to heaven as soon as possible.
- Where will you find him? the mother hen cackled. Do you know where it lives?
“We don’t know who we meet, we’ll ask him,” the chickens answered.

The mother hen collected them on the road. She gave me a bag and a purse. There is a grain in the bag, a poppy seed in the purse.

The chickens have gone. They walked and walked - and they see: in the garden, behind a head of cabbage, a snail is sitting. Itself is big, horned, and on the back is a hut.

The chickens stopped and asked:
- Snail, snail, do you know where the sun lives?
- Don't know. There is a magpie sitting on the wattle fence - maybe she knows.

And the magpie did not wait until the chickens approached her. She flew up to them, chattered, crackled:
“Chickens, where are you going, where are you going?” Where are you chickens, chickens going, where?
The chickens answer:
“Yes, the sun has gone down. He was gone for three days. Let's go look for him.
“And I will go with you!” And I will go with you! And I will go with you!
Do you know where the sun lives?
- I don’t know, but the hare, maybe he knows: he lives next door, beyond the boundary! - the magpie crackled!

The hare saw that guests were coming to him, straightened his hat, wiped his mustache and opened the gate wider.
“Hare, hare,” the chickens squealed, the magpie chattered, “do you know where the sun lives? We are looking for him.
“I don’t know, but my neighbor duck, she probably knows; she lives near the stream in the reeds.

The hare led everyone to the stream. And near the stream, the duck house stands and the shuttle is tied nearby.
“Hey neighbor, are you home or not?” shouted the hare.
- At home, at home! the duck quacked. - I still can’t dry out - there was no sun for three days.
And we are just going to look for the sun! the chickens, the magpie and the hare shouted back to her. Do you know where it lives?
- I don’t know, but behind the stream, under a hollow beech, a hedgehog lives - he knows.

They crossed the stream in a canoe and went to look for a hedgehog. And the hedgehog sat under the beech tree and dozed:
“Hedgehog, hedgehog,” the chickens, the magpie, the hare and the duck shouted in unison, “do you know where the sun lives? He hasn't been in heaven for three days, hasn't he fallen ill?
The hedgehog thought and said:
- How not to know! I know where the sun lives. Behind the beech is a big mountain. There is a big cloud on the mountain. Above the cloud is a silvery month, and there the sun is within easy reach!

He took a hedgehog stick, put on his hat and walked ahead of everyone to show the way.

So they came to the top of a high mountain. And there the cloud clung to the top and lies and lies down.

Chickens, a magpie, a hare, a duck and a hedgehog climbed onto the cloud, sat down more firmly, and the cloud flew straight to the moon to visit. And the moon saw them and quickly lit up its silver horn.

- Month, month, - the chickens, the magpie, the hare, the duck and the hedgehog shouted to him, - show us where the sun lives! For three days he was not in heaven, we missed him.

The month brought them right to the gates of the Solntsev house, but it was dark in the house, there was no light: it was clear that the sun had fallen asleep and did not want to wake up.

Then the magpie crackled, the chickens squealed, the duck quacked, the hare clapped its ears, and the hedgehog rattled with a stick:
- Sun-bucket, look out, shine it!
- Who is screaming under the window? the sun asked. Who's stopping me from sleeping?
- It's us - chickens, yes magpie, yes hare, yes duck, yes hedgehog. Come to wake you up: the morning has come.
- Oh, oh! .. - the sun groaned. How can I look up at the sky? For three days the clouds hid me, for three days they covered me with themselves, now I can’t even shine ...

The hare heard about this - grabbed a bucket and let's carry water. Heard about this duck - let's wash the sun with water. And forty - wipe with a towel. And let's clean the hedgehog with prickly bristles. And the chickens - they began to brush off the motes from the sun.

The sun came out into the sky, clear, clear and golden. And everywhere it became light and warm.

The chicken went out to bask in the sun. She came out, cackled, calls the chickens to her. And the chickens are right here. They run around the yard, looking for grains, basking in the sun.

Who does not believe, let him look: am I running around the yard chickens or not?

Fairy tale "Wonderful time".

Everything in nature changes. Bright and rainy autumn gives way to frosty and blizzard winter. After winter comes the green beauty of spring. But now the time has come for the red-spring to leave. And behind it, the summer is red right there, just waiting for it.
And all the inhabitants of the magical forest were waiting for summer.
First of all, the forest animals rejoiced. Little newborn fox cubs crawled out of their holes and are happy to play in the sun. And the wolves are right there. They just don't want to play. Their mother, a she-wolf, teaches them how to hunt. But the cubs went further into the forest and began to eat everything that came across on the way - they began to accumulate fat by the winter so that it would not be cold to sleep later. It’s good for animals in the summer - there is a lot of food, it’s warm, it’s good.
And the birds are also happy - happy warm sun. They chirp incessantly to all voices, you can listen. But the birds not only need to sing and fly from branch to branch, little chicks are waiting for them in their nests, which they need to feed and warm. Well, yes, this is not a problem - in the summer, food is apparently invisible and bugs and spiders and all sorts of dragonflies. Happy birds.
What about insects? They have a lot of work during the summer. Ants swarm in an anthill, lay eggs and hatch offspring, a bee collects useful honey, caterpillars turn into butterflies, and an earthworm loosens the earth in vegetable gardens. All bring benefits - after all, summer flies by quickly, and there it’s time to hibernate.
And the flowers, the flowers-buds, have blossomed and beckon with their aroma, they invite insects for nectar. And in the clearings, berries peep out of the grass, asking right into the mouth. What a beauty, what a fragrance!
Yes, and a person is happy with a warm summer. He swims in the river, picks berries, basks in the sun. And everyone wants this wonderful time to never end.

Fairy tale: L.N. Tolstoy "Squirrel and Wolf"

The squirrel jumped from branch to branch and fell right on the sleepy wolf. The wolf jumped up and wanted to eat her. The squirrel began to ask:

Let me in.

Wolf said:

Okay, I'll let you in, just tell me why you squirrels are so cheerful. I'm always bored, but you look at you, you're all playing and jumping up there.

Belka said:

First, let me climb the tree, and from there I will tell you, otherwise I am afraid of you.

The wolf let go, and the squirrel went to the tree and said from there:

You're bored because you're angry. Anger burns your heart. And we are cheerful because we are kind and do no harm to anyone.

Vitaliy Bianchi "Bird Talk at the End of Summer" ("Bird Talk")

Yellow chiffchaff from a yellowed branch:

- Aunt-shadow-ka!
Pe-night-ke
Day-day-sky
Shadow!

Motley crested hoopoe: - It's bad here! Bad here! Bad here!

Bullfinch: - Horror! Horror!

Redstart: Live! Live!

Sparrow: - A little alive! A little alive!

Crows will fly to the garbage dump, shouting: - Grub! Grub!

Swallows chirp:

- Bake kalachi,
Roast on the stove
Egg eggs!

Snipe - heavenly lambs, falling from under the clouds:

- Pecks, pecks, pecks, pecks -
Be-ee-ee!

Cranes:

- Touch, touch! On a hike!
Over the mountains, over the seas:
We fly not in vain
We are eagles
Kurly! Kurly!

Wild geese flying by:

— Go-lod-but! Cold!

Terenty-Teterev:

- Nonsense! I will sell a hoodie, I will sell a hoodie, I will buy ...

Owl from the forest: - Fur coat!

Black grouse: - I'll buy a fur coat! I'll buy a coat!

Chizhik:

- Stockings, stockings, felt boots!
Stockings, stockings, mittens!

Heavenly lambs:

- Well, buy, buy, buy -
Be-ee-ee!..

Chiffchaff:

- Aunt-shadow-ka!
Pe-night-ke
Day-day-sky

Despite the fact that the story about the summer involves the free expression of one's thoughts and does not involve any specific knowledge, for many this type of work is not easy. After all, how can you write quickly and easily when you can write about virtually everything?

How to write any school essay

1. Any school student's opus should consist of three parts - introduction, conclusion and main part. This means that you can’t just start the text with words, for example, “One sunny summer day, I went to pick mushrooms in the nearest pine forest.” A couple of introductory sentences are needed, for example, if we are writing a story about summer, they will be as follows:

• I have been waiting for the summer holidays for a very long time and was very happy when they finally arrived.
• I was overwhelmed with emotions on the first day of my school holidays. I knew that this summer would be special and that great things were waiting for me.
• Summer time- a wonderful time, because it is warm outside, everything is blooming and green. And in the summer there is a great opportunity to relax and go out of town, which I did.
• I love summer very much, because at this time you can walk a lot, it’s light in the evenings, and it’s so warm outside that you don’t need to put on a lot of clothes. In the summer I usually go to the camp. It was the same this year.

At the same time, the introduction and conclusion should not occupy more than a third of the story.

2. The content of the student's work should cover the topic of the work, and not touch it in passing. That is, for example, if a student writes an essay about summer, then you should not take up half a page with information about how difficult it was to take exams in May, or compare summer holidays with winter holidays and devote most of them to the latter. In fact, any essay is an answer to a question that is posed in the topic. Here the question is quite specific: "What happened in the summer?".

3. It is also worth dividing the text into paragraphs. One huge layer of text without semantic breakdowns looks monstrous. The essay must contain at least three paragraphs. As you might guess, this is just the introduction, the main part and the conclusion.

Why children are forced to write short stories about summer

The essay about summer vacation is primarily intended to set students in a working mood. Over the summer, they lost the habit of studying a little, and expressing their thoughts in writing. This composition is designed to make children strain their brains, remember what they forgot during the three months of rest, and enter into a working rhythm. Well, and brag a little to classmates, for example, suddenly someone went to the sea, to warm lands, jumped with a parachute, went to a language camp, had a wonderful birthday, etc.

Also this type of essay on free themes help children learn to express themselves better. In addition, it is a certain general control of knowledge.

If a student, for example, in an essay on literature cannot describe a character because he has not read the work in which he is mentioned, this does not mean that the child cannot write. He just doesn't get enough theoretical knowledge specifically about this character. You need to read the piece again.

Or if the student cannot answer the question in the lesson German language, what is the economy of Germany, this does not mean that he does not know German, maybe he really simply does not know about the economic situation in the country of Schiller and Goethe. Undereducated. However, a story about summer in German will just give general idea about the knowledge of the student, because in this type of essay he can use the words that are familiar to him, and not just highly specialized vocabulary (as in the aforementioned case with the German economy). In foreign language lessons, essays about summer holidays just very well help to understand how well the student speaks the language. Difficult topics may not cover all. Not everyone experienced certain events in life either. Everyone had summer holidays.

Summer essay plan

A plan should be in every job, even the smallest one. For example, even if a story about summer for children consists of only a few sentences, it still needs to be written in a certain format. So, the introduction should indicate what the student will write about. In the main part, there is already a presentation of events. The conclusion contains conclusions. This plan specifically for writing about summer holidays can be structured and presented as a list:

1. Designation of the topic (summer has come and with it - the long-awaited summer holidays; we all have been waiting for this time for a long time; I am glad for the summer and the holidays).
2. The designation of a specific event or events (the most interesting day was ..., the most memorable for me is the following ...).
3. Description of the most prominent event or events.
4. Conclusions (I liked the summer; it was one of the most interesting holidays in my life, next year I will definitely go there again).

How to get a connected story

In a story about summer, you need to pay attention to the connection between the elements of the text. For example, it will not be very harmonious if the student simply writes "in June ... in July ... in August" and list the events of three months. It is much better to try to make it beautiful, so that one follows from the other.

Wrong: In June I stayed at home because my parents were working. In July we went to the sea.

Correct: I spent June in the city as my parents continued to work. I read a lot and walked in the park. In June, I did not manage to swim. But in July, things were completely different. Then my family and I went to the sea.

What to write about in an essay

Summer time gives a huge choice of topics that you can cover in your story. Briefly, they can be described as follows:

1. Description of nature, wonderful weather, picturesque landscapes, etc. Suitable for those who like to describe things more than events.
2. A story about a specific event that is most memorable. This is just an option for those students who like specifics. Of the 91 days, one is chosen, the most beloved, and it is he who is described.
3. A detailed story about summer describing the events of June, July, August. This is an option for those who love to write, who have no problems expressing thoughts and structuring text.

landscape sketches

If you just describe the nature and wonderful weather outside the window, then you will already get a beautiful story. For example, even if the child did not go anywhere during the summer holidays, he still noticed how everything around had changed, managed to enjoy the warm days. Even a simple walk in the park can be the subject of a short story about summer. The child can describe how beautifully the flowers bloom in the meadows, what bizarre shapes the clouds have in the azure sky, how the birds sing in summer forest.

A story about a day in summer

You can describe any summer events, for example, one day of summer time (on a picnic, on a river) or a fragment that is most memorable. Children, as a rule, most of all look forward to swimming or a trip out of town or to the sea. Therefore, a description of a trip to the lake, a trip on vacation will come in handy.

You can also write about some holiday that was in the summer, for example, the birthday of the child or a friend, going on a picnic in the park.

If a child is studying at a school with a focus on a foreign language, then a story about a summer in English can include a story about communicating with a foreigner, a trip to a language camp, etc.

Description of all holiday events

An essay about summer can be presented as a coherent story about all the important events of this period. Here the main rule is that you need to be able to write about it coherently and relatively briefly (do not rant, otherwise the notebook will not be enough). You can break the story about the summer into thematic groups and cover topics regardless of chronology.

For example, what did you like and dislike about the holidays; time at home and travel time; meetings with friends and time left to oneself, etc.

In the midst of summer - it's time to relax and walk. But reading in the summer is an important part of the holiday. Someone reads more in the summer, someone less, but today we have a selection of fairy tales and stories about the summer itself and what is connected with it (as usual, we don’t include poems, otherwise there won’t be enough space on the page).

Let's start as usual:

Classic

Short works L.N. Tolstoy: “Hares”, “What is the dew on the grass” and “About ants”, “Squirrel and wolf”, “Quail and her children” and “How wolves teach their children”. These and many other children's works of the classic in the collection "All best fairy tales and stories." In the Ozone In the Labyrinth From the famous cycle "Notes of a Hunter" A. Turgenev the most “summer” story is “Bezhin Meadow” and on Sat. Ivan Turgenev "Bezhin Meadow. Selected Stories" In the Ozone In the Labyrinth

Another of his short stories "Quail".

S. Aksakov. "Field Strawberries" and "Mushrooms". (here are also the stories of L. N. Tolstoy and Ushinsky collection “How Trees Walk”. Illustrations - A. Lopatin. - 1989)

summer fairy tale D. Mamin-Sibiryak from the cycle "Alyonushka's Tales": "The Tale of How the Last Fly Lived". In Ozone

Collection "Alyonushka's Tales" In Ozone In The Labyrinth

From the stories of an old hunter - "Adopted". Compilation In Ozone

Little stories about nature in summer M. Prishvina"First Cancer", "Disgruntled Frog", "Aspen Fluff", "Red Cones", "Anthill Stump". "Sunset of the Year", "Dark Forest", "Overgrown Glade", "Pours Rye", "Spruce and Birch", "Woodpecker". "Forest dwellings", "At the old stump".

And also M. Prishvin: “Hedgehog” and other stories in the collection “Fox Bread” In Ozone In the Labyrinth

Fairy tales Vitalia Bianchi. "Sinichkin calendar - Summer" - In the Ozone In the Labyrinth Here are fairy tales by months. "Bird Year" - "Nests", "Eggs", "Chicks". "The conversation of birds at the end of summer" "Bear-head", "Like an ant hurried home", In Ozone, "The Fly and the Monster" In the labyrinth.

K. Ushinsky"Summer", "Morning Rays". in the ozone in the labyrinth

K. G. Paustovsky "Golden Line", "Summer Days", "Collection of Miracles", "Dense Bear", "Poetry of the Rain" and many other stories in the collection "Basket with Fir Cones". in the ozone in the labyrinth

Sladkov N.I. « forest tales» (there are different editions) In Ozone In the Labyrinth

"June": "Whom to help?", "Forest secrets", "Cunning Chicks", "Funny Game", "Pishukhin Waltz", "Why is a finch a finch?", "Singing Path", "Singing Tree", " Foster", "How the Bear Scared Himself", "Lying Stone", "Cormorant", "Pink Swamp", "Nightingale and the Frog", "Cuckoo Years", "Crow's Eye", "Mushroom-Nest", "Topic and Katya”, “The Third”, “Thin Dish”, “Thieving Magpie”.

"July": "Naughty Kids", "Forest Time", "Shadow", "Fosters", "Toadstools", "Serious Bird", "Three Testicles", "Starling Healers", "Night Hunters", "Chekanchik" , “Knock-knock”, “Hedgehog ran along the path”, “Strong measures”, “Karluha”, “Self-assembled tablecloth”, “Berry knowledge”, “Honey rain”, “First flight”.

"August": "Fedot, but not that one", "Forest strongmen", "Mysterious lake", "Mysterious beast", "Butterflies", "Thoughtful woodpecker", "Nightjar", "Bird posts", "Oak and wind" , "Magpie Treasure", "On Duty", "Gray Heron", "Toad King", "Animal Bath", "At the End of the Mysterious Forest ...", "Eaten Egg", "Butterfly and the Sun", "Nettle Happiness".

G. Skrebitsky"Forest Echo", "Forest Voice", In the Labyrinth, both tales in one book, "Invisible Skripun".

A. Platonov"July Thunderstorm", Tale - a true story "Unknown Flower". The Labyrinth contains both stories in the collection.

I. Sokolov-Mikitov Ants, Spiders, Chipmunk. Other stories, including "Summer", "Russian Forest" are in the collection "A Year in the Forest" In the Ozone In the Labyrinth

Russian writers, already almost classics

R. Pogodin"Dubravka". (The book was published with the first subtitle "Stories about cheerful people and good weather", but it is not on sale now).

Y. Koval"Thunderstorm over a potato field", "On a forest road", "Nightingales". Part summer stories there is a unique book with illustrations by Tatyana Mavrina "Butterflies", another part - in the book "Sparrow Lake" (Exclusive until May 26, 2015)

E. Shim"Who is hunting whom". And other stories about nature, for example, “Beetle on a String” In Ozone In The Labyrinth

Many stories and fairy tales by Russian writers are devoted to the theme of children's summer holidays. story action Victor Dragunsky "From top to bottom, obliquely"! happens just in the summer. The heroes of this humorous work are preschool children who are left alone without adult supervision. There are, for example, in this collection of Deniskin's stories: In Ozone In the Labyrinth

You can also read about summer holidays and adventures of children at N. Nosova in the stories "Knock-knock-knock", "Cucumbers" and "Gardeners". The works tell about the friendship and adventures of the boys who went to summer camp. "Big Book of Stories" In Ozone In The Labyrinth

One of the modern author's books E. Uspensky about Prostokvashino is dedicated to summer holidays - the book "Uncle Fyodor and Summer in Prostokvashino". in the ozone in the labyrinth

And in the fairy tale "Down the Magic River" E. Uspensky tells about the summer holidays of the boy Mitya, who went to visit fairyland, about his unusual adventures, meeting with fairy tale characters and much more. Edition with illustrations by V. Chizhikov In the Ozone In the Labyrinth

There are two instructive tales in which the action also takes place in the summer. These are the fairy tales "Flower-Semitsvetik", "Stump", "Mushrooms", "Pipe and Jug". in the ozone in the labyrinth

M. Plyatskovsky"Sun for memory". in the ozone in the labyrinth

V. Berestov"Honest caterpillar".

Probably in the summer you will want to re-read many fairy tales V. Suteeva, for example "Live Mushrooms", "Under the Mushroom" and other fairy tales - one of the complete collections of fairy tales In the Ozone In the Labyrinth

There is about summer and G. Tsyferova: "Big Dandelion", "Ant Ship". You can buy "Baby Tales".

Many fairy tales Sergei Kozlov connected with summer theme: "Magic weed St. John's wort", "You fly! I flap my wings”, “Clean Birds”, “The Hare and the Bear Cub”, “By the Stream”, “Such a Tree”, “On the Hottest Sunday That Was in the Forest”, “Robbers”, “Hare Ears”, “Small Warm rain", "Heel", "Chamomile". You can buy "The Big Book of Fairy Tales", "Tales about the Lion Cub, the Turtle and the Hedgehog in the Fog" In Ozone In the Labyrinth

At S. Mogilevskaya there is a series of "Seven colorful fairy tales", five of which are summer. "About Masha and the Pea" In Ozone In The Labyrinth

Contemporary authors

E. Kuznetsova"The Tale of Lethe and His Sons".

N. Pavlova"Cunning Dandelion"

D. Pinsky"Sun",

N. Abramtseva"Silence please",

K. Evtyukov"Frog Boy's Vacation"

A. Lukyanova"The Tale of the Green Leaf"

M. Sidenko"Blue-eyed Hermit Crab".

And more fairy tales N. Abramtseva"Summer Gifts", "Sunny Tale", "Red Tale".

E. Alder"Tale of Summer".

T. Cheremnova(from the life of small animals).

T. Vershinina"Frying", "Dandelions" .

T. Domarenok- Fairy tales and stories for children from the series "Summer", for example, "Forest Thunderstorm".