Stories for children about summer fun. Short stories for children about summer, nature and animals in summer

It is considered the most favorite of almost all people. It is expected every year. It attracts children and adults on warm and hot days. Thanks to which flowers bloom, grass grows, fruits, berries and vegetables ripen. Everyone enjoys the noisy, thunderous summer rain, after which everything around becomes clean and fresh. And after it you can see a very phenomenon - a rainbow. After the rain, everything comes to life, birds begin to sing, plants grow, their buds open. It's very nice to wake up early and run through the dew. If you look closely, you will notice that all the grass is strewn with small droplets of water. They resemble diamonds shimmering in the sun's rays.

Children especially look forward to summer days. After all, at this time the longest ones begin. It will be possible to forget about lessons for three months. Go with your parents to the dacha, the sea. Better yet, go to your grandmother. It attracts with clean air, freedom and open spaces. You can go fishing. Take a boat ride on the lake. Swim and sunbathe. Or go and wander around it, taking a break from the bustle of the city. It’s even better to go out and pick mushrooms after the rain. Only in the village can there be an opportunity to try fresh cow's milk. Chat with pets, feed chickens and little ducklings.

In summer you can walk through the meadow, inhaling the aromas of meadow herbs and flowers. Lie on them, peering at the floating clouds and flying birds. Listen to the singing of the lark and swallows. It is especially pleasant to watch the swifts, which, screaming together like airplanes, are chasing insects. Admire the beauty of fluttering butterflies, a flying bumblebee, and a bronco. Watch how a bee lands on a flower and collects nectar.

Everyone is busy with their own affairs, especially the ants, who are constantly expanding their mounded homes. And in the evening it is very pleasant to listen to the singing of crickets, reminiscent of a beautiful enchanting song. When it gets dark, it’s interesting to look at the starry sky, finding the Milky Way, and wait for a star to fall to make your deepest wish. In addition to relaxing in the summer, you have to work a lot in order to live calmly in the winter. But this work is pleasant in its own way, because it is carried out in the fresh air, and not in a stuffy room. People work in the fields, in gardens, caring for plants.

And in the summer you can gather with friends around the fire, bake potatoes, and sing your favorite songs with a guitar. Summer is the most wonderful time when you want to create something, dream about the future, enjoy the warm sun, bask in the silky grass, admire the beauty of flowers, the harvest of vegetables and fruits. Even though every summer is the same, you always look forward to it!

"It's good in summer!" Short story about summer

Good in summer! The golden rays of the sun generously pour onto the earth. The river runs off into the distance like a blue ribbon. The forest is in festive, summer decoration. Flowers - purple, yellow, blue - scattered across the clearings and edges.

Sometimes in the summer all sorts of miracles happen. The forest stands in a green dress, underfoot there is green ant grass, completely strewn with dew. But what is it? Just yesterday there was nothing in this clearing, but today it is completely strewn with small, red, as if precious, stones. This is a berry - strawberry. Isn't this a miracle?

The hedgehog puffs, enjoying the tasty provisions. Hedgehog is an omnivore. Therefore, good days have come for him. And for other animals too. All living things rejoice. The birds are singing happily, they are now in their homeland, they don’t need to rush to distant, warm lands yet, they are enjoying the warm, sunny days.

Children and adults love summer. For long, sunny days and short, warm nights. For a rich harvest in the summer garden. For generous fields full of rye and wheat.

All living things sing and triumph in summer.

"Summer morning". Short story about summer
Summer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer morning is amazing. Light clouds are floating high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river sheds the haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, illuminating the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks carefully, as if looking for something.

It's nice to wander through the summer forest. Among the trees, the tallest are pine trees. Spruce trees are also not small, but they do not know how to stretch their tops so high towards the sun. You step softly on the emerald moss. What is there in the forest: mushrooms and berries, mosquitoes and grasshoppers, mountains and slopes. Summer forest- This is nature's storehouse.

And here is the first meeting - a large, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?

"Summer evening". Short story about summer
The summer day is approaching evening. The sky gradually darkens, the air becomes cooler. It looks like it might rain now, but inclement weather is rare in the summer. The forest is becoming quieter, but the sounds do not disappear completely. Some animals hunt at night; darkness is the most favorable time for them. Their vision is poorly developed, but their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. Such animals include, for example, the hedgehog. Sometimes you can hear the turtledove moaning.

At night the nightingale sings. During the day he also performs a solo part, but among the polyphony of voices it is difficult to hear and make out. It's a different matter at night. Some are singing, some are moaning. But overall, the forest is dying. Nature rests so that by morning it can delight everyone again.

Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich.
8. Ushinsky Konstantin Dmitrievich.
9. Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
10. Korolenko Vladimir Galaktionovich
11. Tolstoy Lev Nikolaevich
12. Mamin-Sibiryak Dmitry Narkisovich

Excerpts from the story “Forest and Steppe”

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

And a summer, July morning! Who, besides the hunter, has experienced how pleasant it is to wander through the bushes at dawn? The trace of your feet lies like a green line across the dewy, whitened grass. If you part the wet bush, you will be bombarded with the accumulated warm smell of the night; the whole air is filled with the fresh bitterness of wormwood, buckwheat honey and “porridge”; In the distance, an oak forest stands like a wall and shines and turns red and the sun; It’s still fresh, but you can already feel the heat coming. The head is languidly spinning from the excess of fragrances. There is no end to the bush... Here and there, in the distance, ripening rye turns yellow, and buckwheat turns red in narrow stripes. …. The sun is getting higher and higher. The grass dries quickly. It's already getting hot. An hour passes, then another... The sky darkens around the edges; The still air swells with a prickly heat.

***
Through dense hazel bushes, tangled with tenacious grass, you descend to the bottom of the ravine. Exactly: right under the cliff there is a source; the oak bush greedily spread its clawed branches over the water; large silvery bubbles, swaying, rise from the bottom covered with fine, velvety moss. You throw yourself on the ground, you are drunk, but you are too lazy to move. You are in the shade, you breathe the odorous dampness; you feel good, but opposite you the bushes heat up and seem to turn yellow in the sun.

***
But what is it? The wind suddenly came and rushed by; the air trembled all around: was it thunder? You are coming out of the ravine... what is that lead stripe in the sky? Is the heat getting thicker? Is a cloud approaching?.. But lightning flashed faintly... Eh, yes, it’s a thunderstorm! The sun is still shining brightly all around: you can still hunt. But the cloud grows: its front edge stretches out like a sleeve, tilts like an arch. The grass, the bushes, everything suddenly went dark... Hurry! over there, it seems, you can see the hay barn... quickly!.. You ran, entered... How is the rain? what are lightning? Here and there, through the thatched roof, water dripped onto the fragrant hay... But then the sun began to shine again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles around, how fresh and liquid the air is, how it smells of strawberries and mushrooms!..

***
But then evening comes. The dawn burst into flames and engulfed half the sky. The sun is setting. The air nearby is somehow especially transparent, like glass; soft steam lies in the distance, warm in appearance; along with the dew, a scarlet shine falls onto the clearings, recently doused with streams of liquid gold; Long shadows ran from the trees, from the bushes, from the tall haystacks... The sun had set; the star has lit up and trembles in the fiery sea of sunset... Now it is turning pale; the sky turns blue; individual shadows disappear, the air fills with darkness. It's time to go home, to the village, to the hut where you spend the night. Throwing the gun over your shoulders, you walk quickly, despite your fatigue... Meanwhile, night comes; twenty steps away it’s no longer visible; the dogs barely turn white in the darkness. Over there, above the black bushes, the edge of the sky becomes vaguely clear... What is this? fire?.. No, it's the moon rising.

***
...Here is the forest. Shadow and silence. Stately aspens babble high above you; the long, hanging branches of the birches barely move; a mighty oak tree stands like a fighter next to a beautiful linden tree. You are driving along a green path dotted with shadows; large yellow flies hang motionless in the golden air and suddenly fly away; midges curl in a column, lighter in the shade, darker in the sun; the birds howl peacefully. The golden voice of the robin sounds with innocent, chatty joy: it goes to the smell of lilies of the valley. Further, further, deeper into the forest... The forest becomes deaf... An inexplicable silence sinks into the soul; and everything around is so drowsy and quiet. But then the wind came, and the tops rustled like falling waves. Tall grasses grow here and there through last year's brown leaves; The mushrooms stand separately under their caps.

***
Summer foggy days are also good... On such days... a bird, fluttering out from under your feet, immediately disappears into the whitish darkness of a motionless fog. But how quiet, how inexpressibly quiet everything is around! Everything is awake and everything is silent. You pass by a tree - it does not move: it luxuriates. Through the thin steam, evenly spread in the air, a long strip blackens in front of you. You take it for a nearby forest; you approach - the forest turns into a high bed of wormwood at the boundary. Above you, all around you, there is fog everywhere... But then the wind moves slightly - a piece of pale blue sky will vaguely emerge through the thinning, as if smoky steam, a golden-yellow ray will suddenly burst in, flow in a long stream, hit the fields, rest against the grove - and behold everything became clouded again. This struggle continues for a long time; but how unspeakably magnificent and clear the day becomes when the light finally triumphs and the last waves of warmed fog either roll down and spread like tablecloths, or soar and disappear into the deep, gently shining heights...

Excerpts from the story “Bezhin Meadow”. From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happen 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 crimson, as before a storm, but bright and welcomingly radiant - floats up peacefully under a narrow and long cloud, shines freshly and sinks into its purple fog. The upper, thin edge of the stretched cloud will sparkle with snakes; their shine is like the shine of forged silver... But then the playing rays poured out again, and the mighty luminary rose merrily and majestic, as if taking off. 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 branches of even blue, they hardly move from their place; further, towards the horizon, they move, crowd together, the blue between them is no longer visible; but they themselves are as azure as the sky: they are all thoroughly imbued with light and warmth. The color of the sky, light, pale lilac, does not change throughout the day and is the same all around; It doesn’t get dark anywhere, the thunderstorm doesn’t thicken; unless here and there bluish stripes stretch from top to bottom: then barely noticeable rain is falling. By evening these clouds disappear; the last of them, blackish and vague, like smoke, lie in pink clouds opposite the setting sun; at the place where it set as calmly as it calmly rose into the sky, a scarlet glow stands for a short time over the darkened earth, and, quietly blinking, like a carefully carried candle, the evening star glows on it. On days like these, 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 “soaring” along the slopes of the fields; but the wind disperses, pushes apart the accumulated heat, and whirlwind vortices - an undoubted sign of constant weather - walk in tall white columns along the roads through the arable land. The dry and clean air smells of wormwood, compressed rye, and buckwheat; even an hour before night you do not feel damp. The farmer wishes for similar weather for harvesting grain...

***
The moon has finally risen; I leaned towards the dark edge of the earth; many stars did not immediately notice: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night, it seemed, was still as magnificent as before... But already, until recently, they stood high in the sky; everything around was completely silent, as everything usually only calms down in the morning: everything was sleeping in a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. There was no longer a strong smell in the air; dampness seemed to be spreading in it again... The summer nights were short-lived!..
... the morning began. The dawn had not yet blushed anywhere, but it was already turning white in the east. Everything became visible, although dimly visible, all around. The pale gray sky became lighter, colder, and bluer; the stars blinked with faint light and then disappeared; the earth became damp, the leaves began to sweat, in some places living sounds and voices began to be heard, and the liquid, early breeze had already begun to wander and flutter over the earth.....
... have already poured around me across a wide wet meadow, and in front, along the green hills, from forest to forest, and behind along a long dusty road, along sparkling, stained bushes, and along the river, bashfully blue from under the thinning fog - they poured first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light... Everything moved, woke up, sang, rustled, spoke. Everywhere large drops of dew began to glow like radiant diamonds; the sounds of a bell came towards me, clean and clear, as if also washed by the morning cool, and suddenly a rested herd rushed past me, driven by familiar boys...

Excerpts from the story “Kasyan with the Beautiful Sword.” From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

The weather was beautiful, even more beautiful than before; but the heat did not subside. High and sparse clouds barely rushed across the clear sky, yellow-white, like late spring snow, flat and oblong, like lowered sails. Their patterned edges, fluffy and light, like cotton paper, slowly but visibly changed with every moment; they melted, these clouds, and no shadow fell from them. ..
The young shoots, which had not yet managed to stretch above an arshin, surrounded the blackened, low stumps with their thin, smooth stems; round, spongy growths with gray edges, the very growths from which tinder is boiled, clung to these stumps; strawberries sprouted their pink tendrils over them; the mushrooms were sitting closely together in families. My legs were constantly getting tangled and clinging in the long grass, saturated with the hot sun; everywhere the sharp metallic sparkle of young, reddish leaves on the trees dazzled the eyes; everywhere were blue clusters of crane peas, golden cups of night blindness, half purple, half yellow flowers Ivana da Marya; here and there, near abandoned paths, on which wheel tracks were marked by stripes of small red grass, there were piles of firewood, darkened by wind and rain, stacked in fathoms; a faint shadow fell from them in oblique quadrangles - there was no other shadow anywhere. A light breeze would wake up and then die down: it would suddenly blow right in your face and seem to play out - everything would make a cheerful noise, nod and move around, the flexible ends of the ferns would sway gracefully - you would be glad to see it... but now it froze again, and everything became quiet again. Some grasshoppers chatter together, as if embittered, and this incessant, sour and dry sound is tiresome. He walks towards the relentless heat of midday; it’s as if he was born by him, as if he was summoned from the hot earth.

***
The heat forced us to finally enter the grove. I threw myself under a tall hazel bush, over which a young, slender maple beautifully spread its light branches... The leaves swayed faintly in the heights, and their liquid-greenish shadows quietly slid back and forth over his frail body, somehow wrapped in a dark overcoat, over his small face. He didn't 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 a surprisingly pleasant experience to lie on your back in the forest and look up! It seems to you that you are looking into a bottomless sea, that it spreads widely beneath you, that the trees do not rise from the ground, but, like the roots of huge plants, descend, falling vertically into those glassy clear waves; the leaves on the trees alternately show emeralds and then thicken into golden, almost black green. Somewhere far, far away, ending in a thin branch, a single leaf stands motionless on a blue patch of transparent sky, and another one sways next to it, its movement reminiscent of the play of a fish reach, as if the movement is unauthorized and not caused by the wind. Like magical underwater islands, white round clouds quietly float and quietly pass, and suddenly this whole sea, this radiant air, these branches and leaves bathed in the sun - everything will flow, tremble with a fugitive shine, and a fresh, trembling babble will rise, similar to an endless small the splash of a sudden swell. You don’t move - you look: and you can’t express in words how joyful, and quiet, and sweet it becomes in your heart. You look: that deep, pure azure awakens a smile on your lips, as innocent as itself, like clouds in the sky, and as if along with them happy memories pass through your soul in a slow line, and it still seems to you that your gaze goes further and further further and pulls you along with you into that calm, shining abyss, and it is impossible to tear yourself away from this height, from this depth...

Excerpts from the novel “Rudin”

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

It was a quiet summer morning. The sun was already quite high in the clear sky; but the fields still glistened with dew, fragrant freshness wafted from the recently awakened valleys, and in the forest, still damp and not noisy, the early birds sang merrily...

... All around, through the tall, unsteady rye, shimmering with silver-green, then reddish ripples, long waves ran with a soft rustle; the larks were ringing overhead.

***
The day was hot, bright, radiant, despite the occasional rain. Low, smoky clouds rushed smoothly across the clear sky, without blocking the sun, and from time to time dropped heavy streams of sudden and instant rain onto the fields. Large, sparkling drops fell quickly, with a kind of dry noise, like diamonds; the sun played through their flickering mesh; the grass, recently agitated by the wind, did not move, greedily absorbing moisture; the irrigated trees trembled languidly with all their leaves; the birds did not stop singing, and it was gratifying to listen to their chatty chirping along with the fresh hum and murmur of the running rain. The dusty roads smoked and were slightly mottled under the sharp blows of frequent splashes. But then a cloud flew by, a breeze fluttered, the grass began to shimmer with emerald and gold... Sticking to each other, the leaves of the trees showed through... A strong smell rose from everywhere...

***
In the distant and pale depths of the sky, stars were just appearing; in the west it was still red - there the sky seemed clearer and cleaner; the semicircle of the moon glittered gold through the black mesh of the weeping birch. Other trees either stood as gloomy giants, with a thousand gaps, like eyes, or merged into solid gloomy masses. 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 nearby; The illuminated long windows were painted on it with spots of reddish light. The evening was gentle and quiet; but a restrained, passionate sigh was felt in this silence.

After spring comes summer. People, plants, and animals were waiting for him. In the summer, the sun stands high in the sky during the day, shines brightly and warms - it becomes hot. The days are long, the nights are short and bright. Everything is blooming, smiling, enjoying the warmth. Now you can wear light clothes and shoes (or even barefoot) and take long walks. The water in the pond, river, lake is heated, so in the summer everyone enjoys swimming and sunbathing.

In summer there are thunderstorms and warm showers. The chicks begin to leave the nests and learn to fly. Dragonflies circle above the water, butterflies and bees above the flowers.

The gardens are filled with fruits and the juicy berries are ripening. In the meadows there is a lush carpet of herbs and flowers. There is a lot of work for people in the fields, meadows and summer cottages.

There are often thunderstorms in summer. Summer thunderclouds are made up of an infinite number of water droplets charged with electricity. Between two such clouds slips electric charge high power. This is lightning. Sometimes lightning occurs between thundercloud and earth. Then a tree or haystack that was struck by lightning may catch fire. That is why during a summer thunderstorm you should not hide from the rain under lonely trees. During the discharge of thunderclouds, we first see the flash of lightning, and then the peals of thunder reach us. This happens because sound travels through air more slowly than light. If there is a very long interval between lightning and thunder, then this means that the thunderstorm is happening somewhere far away.

Usually you can see in advance that a thunderstorm is brewing: the sun is hot, moisture accumulates in the air, it becomes quiet and stuffy. A cluster of powerful cumulus clouds is noticeable on the horizon. They quickly approach and soon occupy the entire sky, which begins to change in a special way and even a special pre-storm light is felt. The wind blows in gusts, abruptly changes direction, and then intensifies, raising clouds of dust, tearing off leaves and breaking tree branches, and can tear off the roofs of houses. Then a wall of torrential rain falls from above from the approaching cloud, sometimes with hail. Lightning flashes, deafening rumbles of thunder are heard. A dangerous, but very beautiful sight!

How dangerous is a thunderstorm? First of all, a lightning strike. Lightning can cause a fire. A direct lightning strike can cause death! Another danger is strong winds that break tree branches and damage buildings. Trees falling from the wind often damage power lines. Because of them, people can get injured. And finally, heavy rain and hail. Hail destroys crops. If you don’t hide from it in time, you can’t avoid bruises and abrasions. Tell us about the sizes of hailstones, show them with examples!

After the rain, when the sun peeks through the thick curtain of clouds, A beautiful seven-color rainbow appears in the sky. She appears where the storm clouds go. A rainbow is visible as long as raindrops fall frequently and evenly on the ground. The larger the drops and the more often they fall, the brighter the rainbow.

The colors of the rainbow are arranged in a strictly defined order: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. These colors make up the white ray of sunlight, which when it rains is refracted in drops of rainwater. To remember this sequence, people came up with a sentence in which the first letter of each word is the same as the first letter of the name of the color: "Every Hunter Wants to Know Where the Pheasant Sits."

Usually we see a rainbow when the rain has not stopped yet, but the sun is shining in the sky. A rainbow can be seen not only in the sky, but also in a fountain, while swimming in a river, when a lot of splashes rise. The main thing is that the sun and water “work” together.

In summer you can see many insects: butterflies, ladybugs, flies, mosquitoes, bees, bumblebees.

In the summer, in the heat, you need to be careful about your food, strictly observe the rules of personal hygiene, and also not consume uncontrolled perishable foods.

At the same time, you need to know the basic rules, the observance of which reduces the risk of contracting intestinal infectious diseases:

Before eating, be sure to wash your hands, and always with soap;

Products must be kept in the refrigerator or sold quickly; in hot weather they spoil very quickly;

When going to the forest, you need to dress properly. Clothes should be light and shoes should be high. It is advisable to cover your neck with something. Under no circumstances should you go into the forest in shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt and without a hat, since tick bites are very dangerous. Ticks are dangerous not only in the forest. This insect can enter a house with a bouquet of flowers, tree branches, grass, on the fur of pets, as well as on the outer clothing of a person returning from the forest. Therefore, when leaving the forest, you need to carefully inspect your clothes, and do it again at home.

In summer, people tend to crops in fields and gardens. At this time of year, it is necessary to fight weeds and insect pests, water and feed plants, and loosen the soil. To prevent plants from burning out due to drought, canals are built in the steppe regions and sprinklers are installed in the fields. This makes it possible to grow corn, melons, watermelons, and various vegetables.

People are busy in summer preparation of food for domestic animals. One such feed is silage. This is mown grass placed in special holes. The pits are closed so that air does not penetrate into them.

The haymaking season has just passed in July, and the peasants have even more new hard work to do. It’s not for nothing that they say that August is bitter hard labor, but afterwards the poppy will be sweet. IN warm earth starchy potato tubers and sweet beet roots will ripen. In the fields, the cornfields are widely agitated, the ripe rye ear has grown heavy, asking to be put into the thresher. The apples are filling up in the orchards; the raspberries and late strawberries have not yet left. Heads of cabbage are already curling up in the vegetable gardens, carrots are growing juicy, and side-size tomatoes are ripening. “August is a bush eater, a thick eater, a pickle eater: plenty of everything.” The bounties of August are countless. They store bread for the whole year, obtain food, and prepare pickles: “Winter has a big mouth.” Discuss the proverbs:

August cooks, September serves.

August is the crown of summer.

It's August and it's a busy time for fish.

In August, the woman bends the ridge in the field; Yes, life is good for her: the days are shorter, the nights are longer; an aching back, and a mess on the table.

August prepares pickles for the winter table.

Whatever a man gathers in August will keep him fed throughout the winter.

What begins in April will grow in May, bloom and ripen in June - July, and be buried in bins and barns in August.

Poems, stories, fairy tales

Summer

So much light! So much sun!

So much greenery all around!

Summer has come again

And warmth came to our house.

And there is so much light around,

It smells like spruce and pine.

If only it were summer

It was with me for a whole year!

Summer gifts

What will you give me, summer?

Lots of sunshine!

There's a rainbow in the sky!

And daisies in the meadow!

What else will you give me?

The key ringing in silence

Pines, maples and oaks,

Strawberries and mushrooms!

I'll give you a cookie,

So that, going out to the edge,

You shouted to her louder:

"Tell me your fortune quickly!"

And she answers you

I guessed for many years!

Ripe summer

Dressed in berries

In apples and plums.

The days have become beautiful.

So much color!

How much light!

The sun is at the top of summer!

Happy summer

Summer, summer has come to us!

It became dry and warm.

Straight along the path

The feet walk barefoot.

Bees circle, birds fly,

And Marinka is having fun.

Rainbow

The sky has cleared

The distance has turned blue!

It was as if it wasn’t raining

The river is like crystal!

Over the fast river,

Having illuminated the meadows,

appeared in the sky

Rainbow-arc!

Sunny morning

Lots and lots of sunshine

The sun is a whole country!

The sun's legs are getting stuck

In the low branches by the window.

Here it is a little more

He will accumulate strength in the heights,

Golden centipede

He'll sneak into my house!

In the summer heat

How beautiful it is in the summer heat

Take a walk with mom in the forest,

Enjoy the silence

Bright blue skies.

Summer sun rays

What a good day!

A light breeze is blowing.

Summer sun rays

So nicely hot!

How we spent our time in the summer

We walked, sunbathed,

They played near the lake.

They sat on the bench -

We ate two cutlets.

They brought the frog

And they grew up a little.

All year round. June

June has arrived.

"June! June!" -

Birds are chirping in the garden.

Just blow on a dandelion

And it will all fly apart.

All year round. July

Haymaking occurs in July.

Somewhere thunder grumbles sometimes.

And ready to leave the hive

Young bee swarm.

All year round. August

We collect in August

Fruit harvest.

Lots of joy for people

After all the work.

The sun over the spacious

Nivami is worth it.

And sunflower grains

Black

Stuffed.

What does the sun look like?

On the round window.

Flashlight in the dark.

It looks like a ball

Damn hot too

And on the pie in the stove.

On a yellow button.

On a light bulb. Onion.

On a copper patch.

On a cheese flatbread.

A little bit for an orange

And even on the pupil.

Only if the sun is a ball -

Why is he hot?

If the sun is cheese,

Why are there no holes visible?

If the sun is a bow,

Everyone would cry around.

So it’s shining in my window

Not a nickel, not a pancake, but the sun!

Let it look like everything -

still the most expensive!

Morning

Silently a ray made its way to them,

Collected dewdrops into a web

And hid it somewhere between the clouds.

I draw summer

I paint summer -

What color?

Red paint -

Sun,

There are roses on the lawns,

And green is the field,

There are mowings in the meadows.

Blue paint - the sky

And the stream is singing.

What kind of paint?

Will I leave the cloud?

I paint summer -

It's very difficult...

Why is there so much light?

Why is it suddenly so warm?

Because it's summer

It came to us for the whole summer.

That's why every day

Every day gets longer

Well, the nights

Night after night

Shorter and shorter...

Summer path

The back of the path is tanned,

A path rushes towards the river in the heat.

- Plop! - from a cliff into a bright pond.

Lo and behold, already on the other shore

Winds through the field, fluttering like a butterfly,

It’s as if it never swam – it’s dry!

Red Summer

Summer has arrived -

Strawberry blushed:

Turns sideways to the sun -

Everything will be filled with scarlet juice.

There is a red carnation in the field,

Red clover. Look at this:

And wild rose hips in summer

All covered in red.

Apparently people are not in vain

Summer is called red.

Why is summer short?

Why for all the guys

Is summer not enough?

Summer is like chocolate

It melts very quickly!

The sun is shining brightly

The sun is shining brightly.

There is warmth in the air.

And wherever you look -

Everything is bright all around!

The meadow is colorful

Bright flowers.

Covered in gold

Dark sheets.

Sunflower

Golden sunflower,

Petals are rays.

He is the son of the sun

And a cheerful cloud.

In the morning he wakes up,

The sun is shining,

Closed at night

Yellow eyelashes.

In summer our sunflower -

Like a colored flashlight.

In the fall we will have little black ones

He will give you some seeds.

Summer

I'm glad to swim in the summer

And sunbathe on the beach,

And ride a bike,

Play badminton with my sister.

After reading a good book

Take a nap in a hammock in the heat.

Summer's delicious gifts

Collect at the end of summer.

Dandelion

Wears a dandelion

yellow sundress.

Grow up to dress up

In a little white dress.

June

The sorties became bolder,

It became quieter and brighter.

The day grows, grows, grows -

Soon the night will turn.

In the meantime, the overgrown path

Strawberry, leisurely

June is coming across the earth!

Summer song

Summer is laughing again

Out the open window

And sunshine and light

Full, full!

Panties and T-shirts again

Lying on the shore

And the lawns bask

In chamomile snow!

Morning

The meadow is buttoned up for all the dewdrops.

Inaudibly a ray made its way to them,

Collected dewdrops into a web

And hid it somewhere between the clouds.

Heat

There is Heat in the middle of the courtyard,

It sits and roasts in the morning.

You climb into the depths of the yard -

And in the depths there is Heat.

It's time for the heat to go away,

But everyone is in spite of the heat!

Today, tomorrow and yesterday

It's hot, hot, hot everywhere...

Well, isn't she lazy?

Standing in the sun all day?

Summer rain

"Gold, gold is falling from the sky!" -

Children scream and run after the rain...

Come on, children, we will collect it,

Just collect the golden grain

Barns full of fragrant bread!

In the forest

We are in the forest in summer

We picked raspberries

And every one to the top

Filled the basket.

We shouted to the forest

All in chorus: - Thank you!

And the forest answered us:

"Thank you! Thank you!"

Then suddenly he swayed

sighed... and silence.

Probably near the forest

The tongue is tired.

Warm rain

Cheerful thunder roared...

It's raining in a thick forest.

It's a bath day there today,

Wash everyone who is not too lazy.

Messing up my hair,

Birch trees wash their heads.

Dusty oaks

Red forelocks are washed.

The linden tree bent down in the rain,

Washes the leaves until they squeak.

In front of the puddle mirrors

The trees are taking showers.

And rowan trees and aspens

They wash their necks, wash their backs...

Wash yourself, everyone who is not too lazy,

After all, today is bath day!

Summer

If there are thunderstorms in the sky,

If the grass has bloomed,

If there is dew early in the morning

Blades of grass are bent to the ground,

If in the groves above the viburnum

Until the night the hum of bees,

If warmed by the sun

All the water in the river to the bottom -

So it's already summer!

So spring is over!

flying flower

(a poem about a dandelion)

Roadside dandelion

Was like the golden sun

But it faded and became similar

To fluffy white smoke.

You fly over a warm meadow

And over the quiet river.

I will be to you as a friend,

Wave your hand for a long time.

You carry on the wings of the wind

golden seeds,

To the sunny dawn

Spring has returned to us.

Rain

Early in the morning, exactly at five,

The rain came out for a walk.

I was in a hurry out of habit -

The whole earth asked for drink, -

Suddenly he reads on the sign:

"Do not walk on the grass".

The rain said sadly:

"Oh!"

And left.

The lawn is dry.

Sunny bunny

Jumped out the window

Sunny bunny

Said: “Oh-ho-ho!”

I woke up immediately

Smiled at him

Stretch slightly...

The heart is easy!

July - the peak of summer

July is the peak of summer, -

The newspaper reminded

But above all newspapers -

Daylight loss of light;

But before this little one,

The most secretive of signs, -

Cuckoo, cuckoo, - top of the head, -

The cuckoo has tapped

Farewell greetings.

And from linden blossom

Consider the song sung

Consider that half the summer is gone, -

July is the peak of summer.

August

August - asters

August - stars

August - grapes

Grapes and rowan

Rusty - August!

Outside the village in complete freedom

An airplane wind is blowing.

There's a potato field there

Everything blooms purple.

And beyond the field, where the mountain ash

Always at odds with the wind,

A path runs through the oak tree

Down to the icy pond.

A boat flashed through the bushes,

Ripple and sharp shine of the sun.

The raft rumbles clearly

The sound of rollers accompanied by a loud splash.

The pond turns blue in a round cup.

Willows bend towards the water...

There are shirts on the raft,

And the boys are all in the pond.

The sun streaked down.

Shadows curl like smoke

Eh, I’ll undress behind the birch tree,

I’ll stretch out my arms and go to them!

Why is summer short?

Why for all the guys

Is summer not enough?

Summer is like chocolate

It melts very quickly!

Summer is ending

The last gentle warmth

So far summer is spoiling us...

The sky is transparent, like glass,

Washed by rain and wind.

Rows of old poplars

Relaxing in an ancient park

And flower beds lush along the alleys

They are blooming and fragrant...

A steamboat is sailing along the river,

The lawn grass is emerald,

And soon autumn will arrive

It's still very hard to believe...

Summer in the forest

It's good in the forest on a hot afternoon. What you won’t see here! Tall pines hung their needle-like tops. Christmas trees arch their thorny branches. A curly birch tree with fragrant leaves shows off. The gray aspen tree is trembling. A stocky oak tree spreads its carved leaves. A strawberry eye peeks out from the grass. A fragrant berry is blushing nearby.

Lily of the valley catkins swing between the long, smooth leaves. A woodpecker knocks on the trunk with its strong nose. The oriole screams. A tenacious squirrel flashed its fluffy tail. A cracking sound is heard far away in the bowl. Isn't this a bear?

Konstantin Ushinsky

On the field in summer

Fun on the field, free on the wide one! Multi-colored fields seem to run along the hills to the blue stripe of the distant forest. The golden rye is agitated; she inhales the strengthening air. Young oats turn blue; Blooming buckwheat with red stems and white-pink, honey-colored flowers turns white. Hidden away from the road was a curly pea, and behind it 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 looks vigilantly from above: he sees a noisy quail in the thick rye, he also sees a field mouse as it hurries into its hole with a grain that has fallen from a ripe ear. Hundreds of invisible grasshoppers are chattering everywhere.

Konstantin Ushinsky

Morning rays

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

The first ray flew and hit the lark. The lark started, flew out of the nest, rose high, high and sang its 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 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 beam 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 nursery, on the little lazy man’s bed: it hit him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

Konstantin Ushinsky

My Russia

Since this summer, I have become forever and wholeheartedly attached to Central Russia. I don’t know a country that has such enormous lyrical power and such touchingly picturesque - with all its sadness, tranquility and spaciousness - as central 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 the summer well, every tree above the lake, its leaves fluttering in the calm, every rooster crow, every cloud floating across the pale and high sky. And if I sometimes want to live to be one hundred and twenty years old, as grandfather Nechipor predicted, it is only because one life is not enough to fully experience all the charm and all the healing power of our Central Ural nature.

Konstantin Paustovsky

Thunderstorm in the forest

But what is it? The wind suddenly came and rushed by; the air trembled all around: was it thunder? You are coming out of the ravine... what is that lead stripe in the sky? Is the heat getting thicker? Is there a cloud coming? But then 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 extended by the sleeve, tilted by the arch. The grass, the bushes, everything suddenly went dark... Hurry! over there, it seems, you can see the hay barn... quickly... You ran, entered...

How is the rain? What are lightning? Here and there, through the thatched roof, water dripped onto the fragrant hay... But then the sun began to shine again. The storm has passed; Are you getting off. My God, how cheerfully everything sparkles around, how fresh and liquid the air is, how it smells of strawberries and mushrooms!..

Alexey Tolstoy

Summer morning

Summer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer morning is amazing. Light clouds are floating high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river sheds the haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, illuminating the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks carefully, as if looking for something.

And here is the first meeting - a large, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?

Iris Review

Good in summer!

Children and adults love summer. For long, sunny days and short, warm nights. For a rich harvest in the summer garden. For generous fields full of rye and wheat.

All living things sing and triumph in summer.

Iris Review

Summer evening

The summer day is approaching evening. The sky gradually darkens, the air becomes cooler. It looks like it might rain now, but inclement weather is rare in the summer. The forest is becoming quieter, but the sounds do not disappear completely. Some animals hunt at night; darkness is the most favorable time for them. Their vision is poorly developed, but their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. Such animals include, for example, the hedgehog. Sometimes you can hear the turtledove moaning.

Iris Review

June

Zinka decided:

“Today I’ll fly to all places: to the forest, and to the field, and to the river... I’ll look at everything.”

First of all, I visited my old friend, the Red-Capped Woodpecker. And when he saw her from afar, he shouted:

Kick! Kick! Away, away! This is my domain!

Zinka was very surprised. And she was deeply offended by Woodpecker: here’s a friend for you!

I remembered field partridges, gray, with a chocolate shoe on their chest. She flew to their field, looking for partridges - they weren’t in the old place! But there was a whole flock. Where did everyone go?

She flew and flew across the field, searched and searched, and with the effort of one she found a cockerel: sitting in the rye, and the rye was already high, screaming:

Chir-vik! Chir-vik!

Zinka to him. And he told her:

Chir-vik! Chir-vik! Chichire! Let's go, get out of here!

How so! - Titmouse got angry. - How long ago did I save you all from death - released you from an icy prison, and now you won’t let me anywhere near you?

Chir-vir,” the partridge cockerel was embarrassed. - True, she saved me from death. We all remember this. But still, fly away from me: now the time is different, this is how I want to fight!

It’s good that the birds have no tears, otherwise Zinka would probably cry: she’s so offended, she’s so bitter!

She turned around silently and flew to the river.

It flies over the bushes, and suddenly a gray beast emerges from the bushes!

Zinka shied away to the side.

I did not recognize? - the beast laughs. - After all, you and I are old friends.

And who are you? - asks Zinka.

I'm a hare. Belyak.

What kind of hare are you when you are gray? I remember a hare: he is all white, only there is black on his ears.

It’s me who is white in winter so that I won’t be visible in the snow. And in the summer I'm gray.

Well, we started talking. Nothing, they didn’t quarrel with him. And then Old Sparrow explained to Zinka:

This is the month of June - the beginning of summer. All of us, birds, have nests at this time, and in the nests are precious eggs and chicks. We do not allow anyone near our nests - neither enemy nor friend: even a friend may accidentally break an egg. Animals also have cubs, animals also will not let anyone near their hole. One hare without worries: he lost his kids all over the forest and forgot to think about them. But bunnies need a mother hare only in the first days: they drink mother’s milk for several days, and then they cram the grass themselves. Now,” added Old Sparrow, “the sun is at its strongest, and his working day is the longest. Now everyone on earth will find something to fill their little ones’ bellies with.

July

WITH Christmas tree, - said Old Sparrow, - six months have passed, exactly six months. Remember that the second half of the year begins in the midst of summer. And now the month of July has come. And this is the most good month both for chicks and animals, because there is a lot of everything around: sunlight, warmth, and various delicious food.

Thank you,” said Zinka.

And she flew away.

“It’s time for me to settle down,” she thought. - There are a lot of hollows in the forest. I’ll borrow whatever free time I like, and I’ll live in it as my own home!”

I thought about it, but it wasn’t so easy to do it.

All the hollows in the forest are occupied. There are chicks in all nests. Some still have tiny ones, naked, some with fluff, and some with feathers, but they are still yellow-mouthed, squeaking all day long, asking for food.

The parents are busy, flying back and forth, catching flies, mosquitoes, catching butterflies, collecting worm caterpillars, but they themselves do not eat: they carry everything to the chicks. And nothing: they don’t complain, they also sing songs.

Zinka is bored alone.

“Let me,” he thinks, “let me help someone feed the chicks. They will thank me."

I found a butterfly on a spruce tree, grabbed it in its beak, and is looking for someone to give it to.

He hears little goldfinches squeaking on an oak tree, their nest is on a branch there.

Zinka quickly went there - and stuck a butterfly into one goldfinch’s gaping mouth.

The goldfinch took a sip, but the butterfly did not climb: it was too big to hurt.

The stupid chick tries, chokes, but nothing comes of it.

And he began to choke. Zinka screams in fright, doesn’t know what to do.

Then the Goldfinch arrived. Now - once! - she grabbed the butterfly, pulled it out of the goldfinch’s throat and threw it away. And Zinke says:

Get out of here! You almost killed my chick. Is it possible to give a little one a whole butterfly? She didn’t even tear off her wings!

Zinka rushed into the thicket and hid there: she was ashamed and offended.

Then she flew through the forest for many days - no, no one accepts her into their company!

And every day, more children come to the forest. All with baskets, cheerful; They go and sing songs, and then they disperse and collect berries: both in their mouths and in baskets. The raspberries are already ripe.

Zinka keeps spinning around them, flying from branch to branch, and it’s more fun for Titmouse and the guys, even though she doesn’t understand their language, and they don’t understand hers.

And it happened once: one little girl climbed into a raspberry field, walked quietly, took berries.

And Zinka flutters through the trees above her.

And suddenly he sees: big scary bear in a raspberry field.

The girl is just approaching him, but she doesn’t see him.

And he doesn’t see her: he’s also picking berries. He will bend the bush with his paw and into his mouth.

“Now,” Zinka thinks, “the girl will stumble upon him, “this monster will eat her!” We must save her, we must save her!”

And she screamed from the tree in her own way, in the titmouse’s way:

Zin-zin-wen! Girl, girl! There's a bear here. Run away!

The girl didn’t even pay attention to her: she didn’t understand a word.

And the scary bear understood: he immediately reared up and looked around: where is the girl?

“Well,” Zinka decided, “the little one has disappeared!”

And the bear saw the girl, dropped on all four paws - and how he ran away from her through the bushes!

Zinka was surprised:

“I wanted to save the girl from the bear, but I saved the bear from the girl! Such a monster, but he’s afraid of the little man!”

Since then, whenever she met children in the forest, Titmouse sang to them a ringing song:

Zin-zin-le! Zin-zin-le!

Who gets up early

He takes mushrooms for himself,

And sleepy and lazy

They go after the nettles.

This little girl, from whom the bear ran away, always came into the forest first and left the forest with a full basket.

August

After July, said Old Sparrow, comes August. The third and - note this - the last month of summer.

“August,” Zinka repeated.

And she began to think about what she should do this month.

Well, she was a titmouse, and titmouses cannot sit in one place for a long time. They would flutter and jump around, climb branches up and down, upside down. You can't think of that much.

I lived in the city for a while - it was boring. And without even noticing, she found herself in the forest again.

She found herself in the forest and wondered: what happened to all the birds there?

Just now everyone was chasing her, they didn’t let her close to themselves or their chicks, and now all you can hear is: “Zinka, fly to us!”, “Zinka, here!”, “Zinka, fly with us!”, “Zinka , Zinka, Zinka!

He looks - all the nests are empty, all the hollows are free, all the chicks have grown up and learned to fly. Children and parents all live together, fly in broods, and no one sits still, and they no longer need nests. And everyone is happy to have a guest: it’s more fun to wander around in company.

Zinka will pester one, then another; one day

will spend one with tufted titmice, another with chickadees. He lives carefree: warm, light, as much food as you want.

And then Zinka was surprised when she met Belka and started talking to her.

He looks - a squirrel has descended from a tree to the ground and is looking for something in the grass. She found a mushroom, grabbed it in her teeth, and marched back up the tree with it. She found a sharp twig there, poked a mushroom at it, but she wouldn’t eat it: she galloped on and went back to the ground to look for mushrooms.

Zinka flew up to her and asked:

What are you doing, Squirrel? Why don't you eat mushrooms and stick them on twigs?

What do you mean why? - Belka answers. - I collect it for future use and dry it for storage. When winter comes, you will be lost without supplies.

Here Zinka began to notice: not only squirrels - many animals collect supplies for themselves. Mice, voles, and hamsters carry grain from the field into their burrows and fill their larder there.

Zinka also began to hide something for a rainy day; he will find tasty seeds, peck them, and what is unnecessary will be shoved somewhere into the bark, into a crack.

The nightingale saw this and laughed:

What, Titmouse, do you want to make supplies for the whole long winter? This way it’s time for you to dig a hole too.

Zinka was embarrassed.

What do you think, he asks, in winter?

Whoops! - Nightingale whistled. - When autumn comes, I’ll fly away from here. I’ll fly far, far away, to where it’s warm in winter and roses bloom. It's as filling as it is here in the summer.

“But you’re a Nightingale,” says Zinka, “what do you mean: today you sang here, and tomorrow – there.” And I'm Sinichka. Where I was born, I will live there all my life.

And I thought to myself: “It’s time, it’s time for me to think about my house! Now people are out in the field, harvesting grain and taking it away from the field. Summer is ending, ending..."

Vitaly Bianki

Four artists

Four wizard-painters somehow came together: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn; They got together and argued: which of them draws better? They argued and argued and decided to choose the Red Sun as the judge: “It lives high in the sky, it has seen many wonderful things in its lifetime, let it judge us.”

Sunny agreed to be a judge. The painters got to work. The first to volunteer to paint a picture was Zimushka-Winter.

“Only Sunny shouldn’t look at my work,” she decided. “She shouldn’t see it until I finish.”

Winter has stretched gray clouds across the sky and let's cover the earth with fresh fluffy snow! One day I decorated everything around me.

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

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

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

“Dress yourself, sideways, in a white fur coat,” Winter decided, “then you won’t be noticed in the snow soon.”

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

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

Winter looked into the forest. “I’ll decorate it so much that the Sun will fall in love!”

She dressed the pines and spruce trees in heavy snow coats; she pulled snow-white hats down to their eyebrows; I put downy mittens on the branches. The forest heroes stand next to each other, stand decorously, calmly.

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

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

Under the trees, Winter painted all the snow with a pattern of different footprints and footprints. Here is a hare's footprint: in front there are two large paw prints next to each other, and behind - one after the other - two small ones; and the fox - as if drawn by a thread: paw into paw, so it stretches in a chain; and the gray wolf ran through the forest, also leaving his prints. But the bear’s footprint is nowhere to be seen, and no wonder: Zimushka-Winter Toptygina built a cozy den in the thicket of the forest, covered the target with a thick snow blanket on top: sleep well! And he is happy to try - he doesn’t crawl out of the den. That’s why you can’t see a bear’s footprint in the forest.

But it’s not just animal tracks that can be seen in the snow. In a forest clearing, where green lingonberry and blueberry bushes stick out, the snow, like crosses, is trampled by bird tracks. These are chickens of the woods - hazel grouse and black grouse - running around the clearing here, pecking at the remaining berries.

Yes, here they are: black grouse, motley hazel grouse and black grouse. On the white snow how beautiful they all are!

The picture of the winter forest turned out well, not dead, but alive! Either a gray squirrel will jump from twig to twig, or a spotted woodpecker, sitting on the trunk of an old tree, will begin to knock out seeds from a pine cone. He’ll stick it into the crevice and hit it with his beak!

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

The sun parted the blue cloud. He looks at the winter forest, at the valleys... And under his gentle gaze everything around him becomes even more beautiful.

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

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

The Sun admires the picture of Winter, admires the month, the other - he cannot take his eyes off it.

The snow sparkles more and more brightly, everything is more joyful, more fun all around. Winter itself cannot withstand so much heat and light. The time has come to give way to another artist.

“Well, let’s see if he can paint a picture more beautiful than mine,” Winter grumbles. “And it’s time for me to rest.”

Another artist began work - Vesna-Krasna. She didn't get down to business right away. At first I thought: what kind of picture should she draw?

Here the forest stands in front of her - gloomy, dull.

“Let me decorate it in my own way, like spring! »

She took thin, delicate brushes. She slightly touched the branches of the birch trees with greenery, and hung long pink and silver earrings on the aspen and poplar trees.

Day after day, Spring paints its picture more and more elegantly.

In a wide forest clearing, she painted a large spring puddle with blue paint. And around her, like blue splashes, scattered the first flowers of snowdrops and lungworts.

He still draws a day and another. There are bird cherry bushes on the slope of the ravine; their branches were covered by Spring with shaggy clusters of white flowers. And on the edge of the forest, also all white, as if covered in snow, there are wild apple and pear trees.

The grass is already turning green in the middle of the meadow. And in the dampest places, marigold flowers bloomed like golden balls.

Everything comes alive all around. Sensing the warmth, insects and spiders crawl out of various cracks. May beetles buzzed near the green birch branches. The first bees and butterflies fly to the flowers.

And how many birds there are in the forests and fields! And for each of them, Spring-Red came up with an important task. Together with the birds, Spring builds cozy nests.

Here on a birch branch, near the trunk, is a finch’s nest. It's like a growth on a tree - you won't notice it right away. And to make it even more invisible, white birch skin is woven into the outer walls of the nest. It turned out to be a nice nest!

Even better is the oriole's nest. Like a wicker basket, it is suspended in a fork of branches.

And the long-nosed, handsome kingfisher made his bird house on the steep bank of the river: he dug a hole with his beak, and built a nest in it; only he lined it inside not with fluff, but with fish bones and scales. It’s not for nothing that the kingfisher is considered the most skilled fisherman.

But, of course, the most wonderful nest was invented by Vesna-Krasna for one small reddish bird. A brown mitten hangs over the stream on a flexible alder branch. The mitten is woven not from wool, but from thin plants. It was woven with their beaks by winged needlewomen - birds, nicknamed remez. Only the bird's thumb was not tied; Instead, they left a hole - this is the entrance to the nest.

And many other wonderful houses for birds and animals were invented by the entertainer Spring!

Days pass by. The living picture of forests and fields became unrecognizable.

What's that crawling around in the green grass? Bunnies. They are only two days old, but they are already great: they look in all directions, twirl their mustaches; They are waiting for their mother hare to feed them milk.

Vesna-Krasna decided to finish her picture with these kids. Let the Sun look at her and rejoice at how everything comes to life around her; let him judge: is it possible to paint a picture even more fun, even more elegant?

The Sun peeked out from behind a blue cloud, looked out and admired it. No matter how much it walked across the sky, no matter how many marvelous things it saw, it had never seen such beauty. It looks at the picture of Spring and cannot take its eyes off. Looks a month, then another...

The flowers of bird cherry, apple and pear trees have long since faded and fallen into white snow; The grass has long been green in place of the transparent spring puddle; in the birds' nests, chicks hatched and became covered with feathers; The tiny bunnies have already become young, nimble hares...

Even Spring itself cannot recognize its own picture. Something new, unfamiliar appeared in her. This means that the time has come to give way to another artist-painter.

“I’ll see if this artist will paint a picture more joyful, more fun than mine,” says Vesna. “And then I’ll fly to the north, they won’t wait for me there.”

Hot Summer has begun its work. He thinks, wonders what kind of picture he should draw, and decides: “I’ll take simpler colors, but richer ones.” And so it did.

Summer painted the entire forest with lush greenery; meadows and mountains were covered with green paint. Only for rivers and lakes I took a transparent, bright blue one.

“Let,” thinks Summer, “let everything in my picture be ripe, ripe.” It looked into the old orchard, hung rosy apples and pears on the trees, and tried so hard that even the branches could not stand it - they bent down to the very ground.

In the forest, under the trees and under the bushes, Summer planted many, many different mushrooms. Each fungus has its own place.

“Let the boletus with gray roots in brown caps grow in the light birch forest,” Summer decided, “and let the boletus grow in the aspen forest.” Summer dressed them up in orange and yellow hats.

Many more different types of mushrooms appeared in the shady forest: russula, boletus, boletus... And in the clearings, as if flowers were blooming, fly agaric mushrooms opened their bright red umbrellas.

Autumn covered the birches and maples with lemon yellow. And the aspen leaves turned red like ripe apples. The aspen tree became all bright red, all burning like fire.

Autumn wandered into a forest clearing. There is a hundred-year-old oak tree standing in the middle of it, shaking its thick leaves.

“The mighty hero must be dressed in forged copper armor.” So she gave the old man a ceremony.

He looks, and not far away, at the edge of the clearing, thick, spreading linden trees have gathered in a circle, their branches lowered down. “A heavy robe of gold brocade suits them best.”

All the trees and even the bushes were decorated by Autumn in its own way, in the autumnal way: some in a yellow outfit, some in a bright red... Only the pine and spruce trees she did not know how to decorate. After all, they don’t have leaves on their branches, but needles, and you can’t paint them. Let them remain as they were in the summer.

So the pines and spruce trees remained dark green in summer. And this made the forest even brighter, even more elegant in its colorful autumn attire.

Autumn went from the forest to the fields, to the meadows. She removed the golden grain from the fields, took it to the threshing floor, and in the meadows swept the fragrant haystacks into haystacks high, like towers.

The fields and meadows became empty, even wider and more spacious. And schools of migratory birds stretched above them in the autumn sky: cranes, geese, ducks... And there, you see, high, high, right under the clouds, large snow-white birds - swans - are flying; they fly, flap their wings like handkerchiefs, and send farewell greetings to their native places.

Birds fly away warm countries. And the animals, in their own animal way, prepare for the cold.

Autumn drives the prickly hedgehog to sleep under a heap of branches, the badger into a deep hole, and the bear makes a bed of fallen leaves. But he teaches the squirrel to dry mushrooms on branches and collect ripe nuts in a hollow. Even the elegant blue-winged jay bird was forced by the mischievous Autumn to take a mouth full of acorns and hide them in a clearing in soft green moss.

In the fall, every bird, every animal is busy, preparing for winter, they have no time to waste.

Autumn is in a hurry, in a hurry, she finds more and more new colors for her painting. The sky is covered with gray clouds. The motley collection of foliage is washed away by the cold rain. And on thin telegraph wires along the road, like black beads on a thread, she places a string of the last flying swallows.

It turned out to be a sad picture. But there is also something good in it.

Autumn is pleased with her work, she can show it to the Red Sun.

The Sun peeked out from behind a gray cloud, and under his gentle gaze the gloomy picture of Autumn immediately cheered up and began to smile.

The last leaves of the birch trees glittered like gold coins on the bare branches. The river, bordered by yellow reeds, became even bluer, the expanses beyond the river became even more transparent and wider, the expanses of the native land became even more endless.

He looks at the Red Sun and can’t take his eyes off. The picture turned out wonderful, but it seems as if something in it is not finished, as if the quiet fields and forests, washed by the autumn rain, are waiting for something. The bare branches of bushes and trees can’t wait for a new artist to come and dress them in a white fluffy headdress.

And this artist is not far away. It’s already Zimushka-Winter’s turn to paint a new picture.

So four wizard-painters work in turn: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. And each of them does it well in their own way. Sunny will never decide whose picture is better. Who decorated the fields, forests and meadows more elegantly? What is more beautiful: white sparkling snow or a colorful carpet of spring flowers, the lush greenery of Summer or the yellow, golden colors of Autumn?

Or maybe everything is fine in its own way? If so, then the wizard-painters have nothing to argue about; Let each of them paint a picture for themselves in their turn. And we will look at their work and admire it.

Georgy Skrebitsky

What kind of dew happens on the grass?

When you go into the forest on a sunny morning in summer, you can see diamonds in the fields and grass. All these diamonds sparkle and shimmer in the sun in different colors - yellow, red, and blue. When you come closer and see what it is, you will see that these are drops of dew collected in triangular leaves of grass and glistening in the sun.

The inside of the leaf of this grass is shaggy and fluffy, like velvet. And the drops roll on the leaf and do not wet it.

When you carelessly pick a leaf with a dewdrop, the droplet will roll off like a light ball, 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 the dewdrop, and this dewdrop seemed tastier than any drink.

Lev Tolstoy

The pipe and the jug

Strawberries have ripened in the forest. Dad took the mug, mom took the cup, the girl Zhenya took the jug, and little Pavlik was given a saucer. They went into the forest and began to pick berries: who would pick them first? Mom chose a better clearing for Zhenya and said:

Here's a great place for you, daughter. There are a lot of strawberries here. Go and collect.

Zhenya wiped the jug with burdock and began to walk. She walked and walked, looked and looked, found nothing and returned with an empty jug. He sees that everyone has strawberries. Dad has a quarter mug. Mom has half a cup. And little Pavlik has two berries on his plate.

Mom, and mom, why do you all have something, but I have nothing? You probably chose the worst clearing for me.

Have you looked hard enough?

Nice. There are not a single berry there, only leaves.

Have you looked under the leaves?

I didn't look.

Here you see! We need to look.

Why doesn’t Pavlik look in?

Pavlik is small. He himself is as tall as a strawberry, he doesn’t even need to look, and you’re already a pretty tall girl.

And dad says:

Berries are tricky. They always hide from people. You need to be able to get them. Look how I do.

Then dad sat down, bent down to the ground, looked under the leaves and began to look for berry after berry, saying:

“Okay,” said Zhenya. - Thank you, daddy. I will do this.

Zhenya went to her clearing, squatted down, bent down to the very ground and looked under the leaves. And under the leaves of the berries it is visible and invisible. My eyes widen. Zhenya began to pick berries and throw them into a jug. He vomits and says:

I take one berry, look at another, notice a third, and see a fourth.

However, Zhenya soon got tired of squatting.

I’ve had enough, he thinks. - I’ve probably gained a lot already.

Zhenya stood up and looked into the jug. And there are only four berries. Not enough! You have to squat down again. It's nothing you can do.

Zhenya squatted down again, began to pick berries, and said:

I take one berry, look at another, notice a third, and see a fourth.

Zhenya looked into the jug, and there were only eight berries - the bottom was not even closed yet.

Well, he thinks, I don’t like collecting like this at all. Bend over and bend over all the time. By the time you’ve filled the jug, well, you might get tired. I’d better go and look for another clearing.

Zhenya went through the forest to look for a clearing where the strawberries do not hide under the leaves, but climb into view and ask to be put into the jug.

I walked and walked, didn’t find such a clearing, got tired and sat down on a tree stump to rest. He sits, having nothing better to do, takes berries out of the jug and puts them in his mouth. She ate all eight berries, looked into the empty jug and thought:

What to do now? If only someone could help me!

As soon as she thought this, the moss began to move, the grass parted, and a small, strong old man crawled out from under the stump: a white coat, a gray beard, a velvet hat and a dry blade of grass across the hat.

“Hello, girl,” she says.

Hello, uncle.

I'm not an uncle, but a grandfather. Didn't you recognize Al? I am an old boletus farmer, a native forester, main boss over all mushrooms and berries. What are you sighing about? Who hurt you?

The berries offended me, grandfather.

Don't know. They are quiet to me. How did they hurt you?

They don’t want to show themselves, they hide under the leaves. You can't see anything from above. Bend over and bend over. By the time you get a full jug, well, you might get tired.

The old boletus, the indigenous forest farmer, stroked his gray beard, grinned through his mustache and said:

Pure nonsense! I have a special pipe for this. As soon as it starts playing, all the berries will appear from under the leaves.

The old boletus man, the indigenous forest man, took a pipe out of his pocket and said:

Play, little pipe.

The pipe began to play by itself, and as soon as it began to play, berries peeked out from under the leaves everywhere.

Stop it, little pipe.

The pipe stopped and the berries hid.

Zhenya was delighted:

Grandfather, grandfather, give me this pipe!

I can't give it as a gift. Let's change: I'll give you a pipe, and you give me a jug - I really liked it.

Fine. With great pleasure.

Zhenya gave the jug to the old boletus, a native forest farmer, took the pipe from him and quickly ran to her clearing. She came running, stood in the middle, and said:

Play, little pipe.

The pipe began to play, and at the same moment all the leaves in the clearing began to move, began to turn, as if the wind was blowing on them.

First, the youngest curious berries, still completely green, peeked out from under the leaves. Behind them, the heads of older berries poked out - one cheek was pink, the other was white. Then the berries, quite ripe, appeared - large and red. And finally, from the very bottom, old berries appeared, almost black, wet, fragrant, covered with yellow seeds.

And soon the entire clearing around Zhenya was strewn with berries, which shone brightly in the sun and reached out to the pipe.

Play, little pipe, play! - Zhenya screamed. - Play faster!

The pipe began to play faster, and even more berries poured out - so many that the leaves were no longer visible under them.

But Zhenya did not let up:

Play, little pipe, play! Play even faster.

The pipe played even faster, and the whole forest was filled with such a pleasant, agile ringing, as if it were not a forest, but a music box.

The bees stopped pushing the butterfly off the flower; a butterfly closed its wings like a book, robin chicks looked out from their light nest that swayed in the elderberry branches and opened their yellow mouths in admiration, mushrooms stood on tiptoe so as not to miss a single sound, and even the old bug-eyed dragonfly, known for its grumpy nature , stopped in the air, deeply delighted by the wonderful music.

Now I’ll start picking!” Zhenya thought and was about to reach out to the largest and reddest berry, when she suddenly remembered that she had exchanged the jug for a pipe and now she had nowhere to put the strawberries.

Ooh, stupid little bastard! - the girl screamed angrily. - I have nowhere to put the berries, and you’ve played out. Shut up now!

Zhenya ran back to the old boletus farmer, a native forest worker, and said:

Grandpa, grandpa, give me back my jug! I have nowhere to pick berries.

“Okay,” answers the old boletus farmer, a native forester, “I’ll give you your jug, just give me back my pipe.”

Zhenya gave the old boletus, the indigenous forest man, his pipe, took her jug and quickly ran back to the clearing.

I came running, and not a single berry was visible there - only leaves. What a misfortune! There is a jug, but the pipe is missing. How can we be here?

Zhenya thought, thought and decided to go again to the old boletus man, the indigenous forest man, for a pipe.

He comes and says:

Grandfather, grandpa, give me the pipe again!

Fine. Just give me the jug again.

I'm not giving it. I myself need a jug to put berries in.

Well, then I won’t give you the pipe.

Zhenya begged:

Grandfather, and grandfather, how can I collect berries in my jug when, without your piper, they all sit under the leaves and don’t show up? I definitely need both a jug and a pipe.

Look, what a cunning girl! Give her both the pipe and the jug! You can do without a pipe, just with one jug.

I won't get by, grandpa.

But how do other people get along?

Other people bend down to the ground, look under the leaves on the side, and take berry after berry. They take one berry, look at another, notice a third, and imagine a fourth. I don't like collecting like this at all. Bend over and bend over. By the time you get a full jug, well, you might get tired.

Ah, that's how it is! - said the old boletus farmer, a native forester, and he became so angry that his beard, instead of gray, became black. - Oh, that's how it is! It turns out you are just a lazy person! Take your jug and get out of here! You won't have any trouble.

With these words, the old boletus farmer, a native forester, stamped his foot and fell under a stump.

Zhenya looked at her empty jug, remembered that dad, mom and little Pavlik were waiting for her, she quickly ran to her clearing, squatted down, looked under the leaves and began to quickly take berry after berry. He takes one, looks at another, notices the third, and imagines the fourth...

Soon Zhenya filled the jug full and returned to dad, mom and little Pavlik.

“Here’s a clever girl,” Dad said to Zhenya, “she brought a full jug!” Are you tired?

Nothing, daddy. The jug helped me. And everyone went home - dad with a full mug, mom with a full cup, Zhenya with a full jug, and little Pavlik with a full saucer.

But Zhenya didn’t say anything to anyone about the pipe.

Valentin Kataev

Scary story

The boys Shura and Petya were left alone.

They lived in a dacha - right next to the forest, in a small house. That evening, their father and mother went to visit their neighbors.

When it got dark, Shura and Petya washed themselves, undressed themselves and went to bed in their own beds. They lie and are silent. There is no father or mother. It's dark in the room. And in the darkness someone is crawling along the wall - rustling; maybe a cockroach, or maybe someone else!…

Shura says from his bed:

I'm not scared at all.

“I’m not scared at all either,” Petya answers from the other bed.

“We are not afraid of thieves,” says Shura.

We’re not afraid of cannibals either,” Petya answers.

And we’re not afraid of tigers,” says Shura.

They won’t come here,” Petya answers.

And just Shura wanted to say that he is not afraid of crocodiles, when suddenly they hear - behind the door, in the entryway, someone quietly stamping their feet on the floor: tramp... tramp... tramp... slap... slap... top... top....

How Petya will throw himself on Shura’s bed! They covered their heads with a blanket and clung to each other. They lie quietly so that no one can hear them.

Don’t breathe, says Shura to Petya.

I'm not breathing.

Stomp... stomp... slap... slap... stomp... stomp... slap... slap...

And through the blanket you can still hear someone walking behind the door and puffing in addition.

But then mom and dad came. They opened the porch, entered the house, and turned on the light. Petya and Shura told them everything. Then mom and dad lit another lamp and began to look around all the rooms, in all corners. There is no one.

We arrived in the hallway. Suddenly, in the hallway along the wall, someone runs into the corner... He ran and curled up in the corner like a ball. They look - yes, it’s a hedgehog!

He must have climbed into the house from the forest. They wanted to pick it up, but it twitched and stabbed with thorns. Then they rolled him up in a hat and took him to the closet. They gave me milk in a saucer and a piece of meat. And then everyone fell asleep. This hedgehog lived with the guys at the dacha all summer. He still puffed and stamped his feet at night, but no one was afraid of him anymore.

Evgeny Charushin

Honest caterpillar

The caterpillar considered itself very beautiful and did not let a single drop of dew pass without looking at it.

How good am I! - the Caterpillar rejoiced, looking with pleasure at its flat face and arching its furry back to see two golden stripes on it. - It's a pity that no one notices this.

But one day she got lucky. A girl walked through the meadow and picked flowers. The caterpillar climbed to the very top beautiful flower and began to wait. And the girl saw her and said:

That's disgusting! It's disgusting to even look at you!

Ah well! - the Caterpillar got angry. “Then I give my honest caterpillar word that no one, ever, anywhere, for anything, under any circumstances, will ever see me again!”

You gave your word - you need to keep it, even if you are a Caterpillar. And the Caterpillar crawled up the tree. From trunk to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to branch, from branch to twig, from twig to leaf. She took out a silk thread from her abdomen and began to wrap herself around it. She worked for a long time and finally made a cocoon.

Phew, I'm so tired! - the Caterpillar sighed. - I'm completely exhausted. It was warm and dark in the cocoon, there was nothing more to do, and the Caterpillar fell asleep. She woke up because her back was itching terribly. Then the Caterpillar began to rub against the walls of the cocoon. She rubbed and rubbed, rubbed right through them and fell out. But she fell somehow strangely - not down, but up.

And then the Caterpillar saw the same girl in the same meadow. “What a horror!” thought the Caterpillar. “Even though I’m not beautiful, it’s not my fault, but now everyone will know that I’m also a liar. I gave an honest caterpillar promise that no one would see me, and didn’t keep it. Shame!” And the Caterpillar fell into the grass.

And the girl saw her and said:

Such a beauty!

So trust people,” grumbled the Caterpillar. - Today they say one thing, and tomorrow they say something completely different.

Just in case, she looked into the dew drop. What's happened? In front of her is an unfamiliar face with a long, very long mustache. The caterpillar tried to arch its back and saw that large multi-colored wings appeared on its back.

Oh that's it! - she guessed. - A miracle happened to me. The most ordinary miracle: I became a Butterfly! This happens.

And she merrily circled over the meadow, because she did not give the butterfly’s honest word that no one would see her.

V. Berestov

Summer in the forest

It’s nice and relaxing in the forest in the summer.

The trees are covered with green foliage. It smells like mushrooms, ripe, fragrant strawberries.

The birds are singing loudly. Orioles whistle, restless cuckoos cuckoo as they fly from tree to tree. Nightingales sing in the bushes above the streams.

Animals prowl under the trees in the forest. Bears roam, moose graze, cheerful squirrels frolic. A robber lynx is hiding in the dark thicket.

At the very top of the old spruce, in the dense branches, goshawks made a nest. Many forest secrets fabulous miracles they see from a high dark peak.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Summer dawn

The warm summer night has ended. The morning dawn is breaking over the forest.

A light fog is still spreading over the forest fields. The leaves on the trees are covered with cool dew.

The songbirds have already woken up. The sleepy cuckoo crowed and choked.

“Cuckoo! Kuk-kuk-kuk! - her cuckoo rang loudly through the forest.

The warm sun will rise soon and dry the dew. Greeting the sun, the birds will sing even louder and the cuckoo will crow. The fog over the clearing will melt.

Here a tired white hare returns from his night hunt.

The little bunny has many enemies. A cunning fox chased him, a terrible eagle owl scared him, and a robber lynx caught him.

The little bunny escaped from all his enemies.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Owl

Before sunrise, a night robber - an eagle owl - hid in a deep, dark hollow.

Spreading his huge wings, he flew silently all night over the forest edges, looking out for prey. Even in the darkness of the night, his round evil eyes are clearly visible. The long-eared robber caught and ate many animals and gullible birds.

The eagle owl is afraid of daylight and bright light. If birds see an eagle owl during the day, a commotion begins in the forest. Magpies chatter loudly and busy jays scream. Crows and hawks flock to this cry from all sides. Even the smallest forest birds are going to judge and punish the night robber, blinded by the bright sunlight.

An agile jumping squirrel saw a long-eared owl in a hollow and squealed shrilly throughout the forest:

“Robber! The robber lives here!

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

In the clearing

The warm sun illuminated the forest clearing.

The cold night dew has dried up.

Calm and quiet in a remote clearing in the forest. It smells like wild rosemary, ripe, fragrant strawberries.

An old mother capercaillie brought her brood to the edge of the clearing. Little capercaillies scattered like fluffy, soft balls. They catch midges in the grass and peck at sweet strawberries.

An old capercaillie flew up onto a tree stump. Now he looks at the sky, now he looks into the forest. Will a goshawk appear, will a cunning fox run by, will a nimble stoat flash through the tall grass?

A cautious capercaillie vigilantly guards its brood.

Like in the present kindergarten, nimble little wood grouse are running around the clearing.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Forest guards

The most sensitive and intelligent bird is the raven.

Smart crows - vigilant forest guards - see everything, smell everything.

So, with prey in his teeth, burying himself in the bushes, a wolf ran through the forest. The sharp-eyed crows saw the wolf, circled over the robber, and shouted at the top of their lungs:

“Carrr! Karrr! Beat the robber! Beat the robber!”

The wolf heard this cry, covered his ears, and ran quickly to his lair.

On the shore of a forest lake, crows noticed a fox. The gossip quietly made her way into the hole. She destroyed many birds' nests and offended many chicks.

The crows and the fox saw:

“Carrr! Karrr! Catch, catch the robber!”

The fox got scared and hid in the dark forest. She knows that sensitive forest guards will not allow her to destroy nests or harm little chicks.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Fox

A fox dug a deep hole in a pine forest.

In early spring, blind little fox cubs were born here in a hole.

Every day the fox leaves for prey, leaving fox cubs in the hole. The red fox cubs grew up, became stronger, and began to emerge from the cramped dark hole. It’s fun to play and frolic in the forest under the trees, tumble on the soft moss.

Hiding behind the trees, the old fox returns with prey.

Hungry fox cubs will greedily pounce on their prey.

The lively fox cubs grow quickly and eat a lot.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Above a river

Along the banks of the river there is a pine forest.

The wind is blowing over the river. Noisy waves splash on the shore. Gray white white lambs walk along the waves.

A huge white-tailed eagle soared above the waves. Holds a living, quivering fish in its claws.

Sharp-sighted eagles know how to fish. From a great height they throw themselves onto the waves like stones and tenaciously grab their prey.

In the most large forests Eagles make nests on the tops of tall trees. They bring a lot of different prey to the voracious chicks.

Vigilant and strong eagles see far. They soar under the very clouds on clear days. They can clearly see where the little hare hid in the grass with his ears flattened, where a fish splashed above the waves, where a cautious mother capercaillie brought her brood out into the forest clearing.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Lynx and lynx

A lynx stretches out under an old pine tree, basking in the sun.

Quiet in the deep forest. The lynx hears how a hazel grouse flutters from tree to tree, how a titmouse squeaks while swinging on a branch, and how a wood mouse rustles.

A small fluffy lynx climbed onto the lynx's back. The old lynx is stretching, purring, playing with a small cheerful lynx.

At night the lynx leaves for prey. Silently sneaks under the trees, catches birds and careless, timid bunnies.

No one can dodge the sharp claws of the robber lynx: not a gaping white hare, not an old black grouse and a heavy capercaillie, not a dozing, timid hazel grouse.

The evil robber lynx does a lot of damage in the forest.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Moose

Evening came in the forest. The sun set behind the treetops.

A moose cow grazes on the edge of a swamp with her long-legged, clumsy calf.

They ate their fill of juicy grass.

Annoying mosquitoes are ringing over the swamp. Moose fight off mosquitoes and shake their long ears.

To escape mosquitoes, moose sometimes climb into the water. Strong elk are afraid of neither water, nor large viscous swamps, nor deep, impassable thickets.

Elks roam everywhere in the forest - they cross swamps, swim across wide rivers and deep forest lakes.

Where people do not offend moose, they trustingly come out of the forest. People often see moose on the outskirts of villages and cities. It happens that they wander into gardens and suburban parks.

Real hunters protect and do not shoot moose. They admire large, beautiful animals that do not harm humans.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Summer night

It's a warm night in the forest

The moon is shining on a clearing surrounded by forest. Night grasshoppers chirp, nightingales sing in the bushes.

In the tall grass, long-legged, agile corncrakes scream without rest.

“Whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa! Whoa, whoa!” - Their loud hoarse scream is heard from all sides.

Bats fly silently in 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 stream is barely audible. Night beauties - violets - smell fragrant.

Here a white hare hobbled and crunched a twig, setting off to hunt. Casting a light shadow across the clearing, an owl flew and disappeared.

In the depths of the forest, a scarecrow owl suddenly hooted and laughed, like in a scary fairy tale.

The eagle owl got scared, woke up in the nest, a small forest bird squeaked timidly...

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Ant ship

There lived an ant in the world. I walked around all day looking for something. Either he finds a fluff from a dandelion, or a maple leaf that looks like a crow's foot, and he is looking for something else... But then one day an ant found a golden shell. She lay on the grass among the greenery and glowed, glowed, like a small golden crown. For a long, long time the ant thought about what to do with it, turning it this way and that. Finally I decided: I’ll take the frog to my friend and ask. And the frog was a famous joker and sage in the forest. He looked at the shell, tried it on his head and finally said: - Yes, it’s too small for the top of the head, but maybe... He threw the shell into the river.

Kwa, kwa, of course. This is an ant's ship. Get in and get on the road. Distant countries and beautiful islands are waiting for you.

But what about swimming? – the ant sighed.

– They say every ship needs a sail?

Yes,” the frog nodded. - There are beautiful sails made of silk and velvet.

“Where can I get these?” the ant shook his head. “Neither silk nor velvet grows in the forest.”

What about poppy petals? – the frog smiled. - This is the best velvet, because it is alive. An ant climbed onto the ship, and the frog handed him a poppy sail. The wind blew and the ship sailed to distant lands. Quiet waves splashed overboard, and only blue water all around. And suddenly...a beautiful island. There is a pier on the island, and apparently and invisibly every ant people is greeted. Some blow trumpets, some beat drums, and some just dance. “Probably,” thought the ant, “they are meeting someone on a real ship with real sails.” He came down and asked:

Who are you meeting?

Yes, you,” answers some beetle.

Why? – the ant was surprised. - My ship is small. And my sail is not real.

Your sail is beautiful,” the beetle sighed.

Maybe,” said the ant, “but I don’t believe you.”

Your sail is beautiful,” repeated the beetle. Your sail is alive. It smells of forest, honey and the first silver dew.

“So, I finally found what I was looking for,” said the ant.

Of course,” answered the beetle. – You found what your heart was waiting for.

G. Tsyferov

Stories for children about summer fun. Short stories for children about summer, nature and animals in summer

Excerpts from the story “Forest and Steppe”

Excerpts from the story “Bezhin Meadow”. From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Excerpts from the story “Kasyan with the Beautiful Sword.” From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Excerpts from the novel “Rudin”

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Stories for children about summer fun. Short stories for children about summer, nature and animals in summer

Excerpts from the story “Forest and Steppe”

Excerpts from the story “Bezhin Meadow”. From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Excerpts from the story “Kasyan with the Beautiful Sword.” From the series “Notes of a Hunter”

Excerpts from the novel “Rudin”

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