Small works about nature and man. Tales about nature - a storehouse of goodness and wisdom

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin “The Last Mushrooms”

The wind scattered, the linden tree sighed and seemed to exhale a million golden leaves. The wind scattered again, blew with all its might - and then all the leaves flew off at once, and only rare gold coins remained on the old linden tree, on its black branches.

So the wind played with the linden tree, got close to the cloud, blew, and the cloud splashed and immediately burst into rain.

The wind caught up and drove another cloud, and from under this cloud bright rays burst out, and the wet forests and fields sparkled.

The red leaves were covered with saffron milk caps, but I found a few saffron caps, aspen boletuses, and boletus mushrooms.

These were the last mushrooms.

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin “Conversation of trees”

The buds open, chocolate, with green tails, and on each green beak hangs a large transparent drop.

You take one bud, rub it between your fingers, and then for a long time everything smells like the fragrant resin of birch, poplar or bird cherry.

You sniff a bird cherry bud and immediately remember how you used to climb up a tree for shiny, black-lacquered berries. I ate handfuls straight from the bones, but nothing but good came from it.

The evening is warm, and there is such silence, as if something should happen in such silence. And then the trees begin to whisper among themselves: a birch with another white birch echoes from afar; a young aspen came out into the clearing like a green candle, and called to itself a greener aspen candle, waving a twig; The bird cherry gives the bird cherry a branch with open buds.

If you compare with us, we echo sounds, but they have aroma.

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin “Birch bark tube”

I found an amazing birch bark tube. When a person cuts himself a piece of birch bark on a birch tree, the rest of the birch bark near the cut begins to curl into a tube. The tube will dry out and curl up tightly. There are so many of them on birch trees that you don’t even pay attention.

But today I wanted to see if there was anything in such a tube.

And in the very first tube I found a good nut, grabbed so tightly that it was difficult to push it out with a stick.

There were no hazel trees around the birch tree. How did he get there?

“The squirrel probably hid it there, making its winter supplies,” I thought. “She knew that the tube would roll up tighter and tighter and grab the nut tighter and tighter so that it wouldn’t fall out.”

But later I realized that it was not a squirrel, but a nutcracker bird that had stuck a nut, perhaps stealing it from the squirrel’s nest.

Looking at my birch bark tube, I made another discovery: I settled under the cover of a walnut - who would have thought? — the spider and the entire inside of the tube were covered with its web.

Eduard Yurievich Shim “The Frog and the Lizard”

- Hello, Lizard! Why are you without a tail?

— The puppy still has it in his teeth.

- Hee hee! I, Little Frog, even have a small tail. A. you couldn’t save it!

- Hello, Little Frog! Where is your ponytail?

- My tail has withered...

- Hee hee! And for me, Lizard, a new one has grown!

Eduard Yuryevich Shim "Lily of the Valley"

- Which flower in our forest is the most beautiful, most delicate, most fragrant?

- Of course it's me. Lily of the valley!

- What kind of flowers do you have?

“My flowers are like snow bells on a thin stem.” It's like they glow in the twilight.

- What is the smell?

- The smell is so bad you can’t breathe it in!

- What do you have on your stem now, in place of the little white bells?

- Red berries. Beautiful too. What a sight for sore eyes! But don’t tear them off, don’t touch them!

- Why do you need it? delicate flower, poisonous berries?

- So that you, sweet tooth, don’t eat it!

Eduard Yurievich Shim “Stripes and Specks”

Two kids met in a clearing: Little Roe, a little forest goat, and Kabanchik, a little forest pig.

They stood nose to nose and looked at each other.

- Oh, how funny! - says Kosulenok. - All striped, as if you were painted on purpose!

- Oh, how funny you are! - says Kabanchik. - All covered in spots, as if you were splashed on purpose!

- I wear spots so that I can play hide and seek better! - said Kosulyonok.

“And I’m striped so I can play hide and seek better!” - said Boar.

- It's better to hide with spots!

- No, it’s better with stripes!

- No, with spots!

- No, with stripes!

And they argued, and they argued! No one wants to give in

And at this time the branches crackled and the dead wood crunched. The Bear and her cubs came out into the clearing. The Pig saw her and goaded into the thick grass.

All the grass is striped, striped, - the Pig disappeared in it, as if he had fallen through the ground.

The Little Roe Bear saw and shot into the bushes. The sun breaks through the leaves, there are yellow spots and spots everywhere - the Little Roe disappeared in the bushes, as if he had never existed.

The Bear did not notice them and passed by.

This means that both of them have learned to play hide and seek well. There was no point in arguing.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy "Swans"

Swans flew in a herd from the cold side to warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night they flew, without resting, over the water. There was a full month in the sky, and the swans below them saw blue water.

All the swans were exhausted, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, and younger and weaker ones flew behind.

One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened.

He flapped his wings and could not fly any further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water, and his comrades further and further became whiter in the monthly light. The swan landed on the water and folded its wings. The sea rose beneath him and rocked him.

A flock of swans was visible as a white line in the bright sky. And in the silence you could barely hear the sound of their wings ringing. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent its neck back and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him.

Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. The dawn reddened in the east, and the moon and stars became paler.

The swan sighed, stretched out its neck and flapped its wings, rose up and flew, clinging to the water with its wings. He rose higher and higher and flew alone over the quietly swaying waves.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy "Cheryomukha"

One bird cherry tree grew on the hazel path and was choking out the hazel bushes. I thought for a long time whether to chop it or not to chop it, I was sorry. This bird cherry grew not as a bush, but as a tree, three inches in diameter and four fathoms in height, all branched, curly and all sprinkled with bright, white, fragrant flowers. Her scent could be heard from afar. I wouldn’t have cut it down, but one of the workers (I had previously told him to cut down all the bird cherry trees) started cutting it down without me. When I arrived, he had already cut an inch and a half into it, and the juice was still squelching under the ax when it fell into the same chopper. “There’s nothing to do, apparently it’s fate,” I thought, I took the ax myself and began to chop together with the man.

Every job is fun to work on and fun to cut. It’s fun to thrust the ax deeply at an angle, and then cut straight down what was cut down, and continue to cut further and further into the tree.

I completely forgot about the bird cherry tree and was only thinking about how to knock it down as quickly as possible. When I was out of breath and put the ax down, I ran into a tree with the man and tried to knock him down. We swayed: the tree shook its leaves, and dew dripped from it and white, fragrant flower petals fell on us.

At the same time, something seemed to scream and crunch in the middle of the tree; we lay down, and as if we were crying, there was a crack in the middle, and the tree fell down. It tore at the cut and, swaying, lay like branches and flowers on the grass. The branches and flowers trembled after the fall and stopped.

“Eh, something important! - said the man. “It’s such a pity!” And I was so sorry that I quickly moved to other workers.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy “Apple Trees”

I planted two hundred young apple trees and for three years, in spring and autumn, I dug them up, and wrapped them in straw to prevent hares for the winter. In the fourth year, when the snow melted, I went to look at my apple trees. They got fatter in the winter; the bark on them was glossy and plump; the branches were all intact and on all the tips and forks there were round flower buds, like peas. In some places the buds had already burst and the scarlet edges of flower leaves were visible. I knew that all the blossoms would be flowers and fruits, and I rejoiced looking at my apple trees. But when I unwrapped the first apple tree, I saw that below, above the ground, the bark of the apple tree was gnawed all the way down to the wood, like a white ring. The mice did it. I unwrapped another apple tree - and the same thing happened on the other one. Of the two hundred apple trees, not a single one remained intact. I covered the gnawed places with resin and wax; but when the apple trees blossomed, their flowers immediately fell asleep. Small leaves came out - and they withered and dried up. The bark wrinkled and turned black. Of the two hundred apple trees, only nine remained. On these nine apple trees the bark was not completely eaten away, but a strip of bark remained in the white ring. On these strips, in the place where the bark separated, growths appeared, and although the apple trees were sick, they continued to grow. The rest all disappeared, only shoots appeared below the gnawed places, and then all of them were wild.

The bark of trees is the same as the veins of a person: blood flows through the veins through a person, and through the bark the sap flows through the tree and rises into branches, leaves and flowers. You can hollow out the entire inside of a tree, as happens with old vines, but as long as the bark is alive, the tree will live; but if the bark is gone, the tree is gone. If a person’s veins are cut, he will die, firstly, because the blood will flow out, and secondly, because the blood will no longer flow through the body.

So the birch tree dries up when the guys dig a hole to drink the sap, and all the sap flows out.

So the apple trees disappeared because the mice ate up all the bark all around, and the juice could no longer flow from the roots into the branches, leaves and flowers.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy “Hares”

Description

Hares feed at night. In winter, forest hares feed on tree bark, field hares on winter crops and grass, and bean hares on grain grains on threshing floors. During the night, hares make a deep, visible trail in the snow. Hares are hunted by people, dogs, wolves, foxes, crows, and eagles. If the hare had walked simply and straightly, then in the morning he would have been found by the trail and caught; but the hare is cowardly, and cowardice saves him.

The hare walks through fields and forests at night without fear and makes straight tracks; but as soon as morning comes, his enemies wake up: the hare begins to hear the barking of dogs, the screeching of sleighs, the voices of men, the crackling of a wolf in the forest, and begins to rush from side to side out of fear. He will gallop forward, get scared of something and run back in his tracks. If he hears something else, he will jump to the side with all his might and gallop away from the previous trail. Again something knocks - again the hare turns back and again jumps to the side. When it becomes light, he will lie down.

The next morning, the hunters begin to disassemble the hare's trail, get confused by the double tracks and distant jumps, and are surprised at the hare's cunning. But the hare didn’t even think of being cunning. He's just afraid of everything.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy “The Owl and the Hare”

It got dark. The owls began to fly in the forest along the ravine, looking out for prey.

A big hare jumped out into the clearing and began to preen himself. The old owl looked at the hare and sat down on a branch, and the young owl said:

- Why don’t you catch the hare?

The old one says:

- It’s beyond your strength - the Russian is a great man: you cling to him, and he will drag you into the thicket.

And the young owl says:

“And I’ll grab hold of the tree with one paw and quickly hold on to the tree with the other.”

And the young owl set off after the hare, grabbed its back with its paw so that all its claws were gone, and prepared its other paw to cling to the tree. As the hare dragged the owl, she clung to the tree with her other paw and thought: “He won’t leave.”

The hare rushed and tore the owl apart. One paw remained on the tree, the other on the hare's back.

The next year, the hunter killed this hare and was amazed that it had overgrown owl claws in its back.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy "Bulka"

An officer's story

I had a little face... Her name was Bulka. She was all black, only the tips of her front paws were white.

In all faces, the lower jaw is longer than the upper and the upper teeth extend beyond the lower ones; but Bulka’s lower jaw protruded forward so much that a finger could be placed between the lower and upper teeth. Bulka's face was wide; the eyes are large, black and shiny; and white teeth and fangs always stuck out. He looked like a blackamoor. Bulka was quiet and did not bite, but he was very strong and tenacious. When he would cling to something, he would clench his teeth and hang like a rag, and, like a tick, he could not be torn off.

Once they let him attack a bear, and he grabbed the bear’s ear and hung like a leech. The bear beat him with his paws, pressed him to himself, threw him from side to side, but could not tear him away and fell on his head to crush Bulka; but Bulka held on to it until they poured cold water on him.

I took him as a puppy and raised him myself. When I went to serve in the Caucasus, I didn’t want to take him and left him quietly, and ordered him to be locked up. At the first station, I was about to board another transfer station, when suddenly I saw something black and shiny rolling along the road. It was Bulka in his copper collar. He flew at full speed towards the station. He rushed towards me, licked my hand and stretched out in the shadows under the cart. His tongue stuck out the entire palm of his hand. He then pulled it back, swallowing drool, then again stuck it out to the whole palm. He was in a hurry, did not have time to breathe, his sides were jumping. He turned from side to side and tapped his tail on the ground.

I found out later that after me he broke through the frame and jumped out of the window and, right in my wake, galloped along the road and rode like that for twenty miles in the heat.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy "Bulka and the Boar"

Once in the Caucasus we went boar hunting, and Bulka came running with me. As soon as the hounds started driving, Bulka rushed towards their voice and disappeared into the forest. This was in November: wild boars and pigs are very fat then.

In the Caucasus, in the forests where wild boars live, there are many delicious fruits: wild grapes, cones, apples, pears, blackberries, acorns, blackthorns. And when all these fruits are ripe and touched by frost, the wild boars eat up and grow fat.

At that time, the boar is so fat that it cannot run under the dogs for long. When they have been chasing him for two hours, he gets stuck in a thicket and stops. Then the hunters run to the place where he stands and shoot. You can tell by the barking of dogs whether a boar has stopped or is running. If he runs, the dogs bark and squeal, as if they are being beaten; and if he stands, then they bark as if at a person and howl.

During this hunt I ran through the forest for a long time, but not once did I manage to cross the path of the boar. Finally, I heard the prolonged barking and howling of hound dogs and ran to that place. I was already close to the wild boar. I could already hear more frequent crackling sounds. It was a boar with dogs tossing and turning. But you could hear from the barking that they did not take him, but only circled around him. Suddenly I heard something rustling from behind and saw Bulka. He apparently lost the hounds in the forest and got confused, and now he heard their barking and, just like me, he rolled in that direction as fast as he could. He ran across the clearing, through the tall grass, and all I could see from him was his black head and a bitten tongue in white teeth. I called out to him, but he did not look back, overtook me and disappeared into the thicket. I ran after him, but the further I walked, the more dense the forest became. Twigs knocked my hat off, hit me in the face, thorn needles clung to my dress. I was already close to barking, but I couldn’t see anything.

Suddenly I heard the dogs bark louder, something crackled loudly, and the boar began to puff and wheeze. I thought that now Bulka had gotten to him and was messing with him. With all my strength I ran through the thicket to that place. In the deepest thicket I saw a motley hound dog. She barked and howled in one place, and three steps away from her something was fussing and turning black.

When I moved closer, I examined the boar and heard Bulka squeal piercingly. The boar grunted and leaned towards the hound - the hound tucked its tail and jumped away. I could see the side of the boar and its head. I aimed at the side and fired. I saw that I got it. The boar grunted and rattled away from me more often. The dogs squealed and barked after him, and I rushed after them more often. Suddenly, almost under my feet, I saw and heard something. It was Bulka. He lay on his side and screamed. There was a pool of blood underneath him. I thought, “The dog is missing”; but I had no time for him now, I pressed on. Soon I saw a wild boar. The dogs grabbed him from behind, and he turned to one side or the other. When the boar saw me, he poked his head towards me. I shot another time, almost point-blank, so that the bristles on the boar caught fire, and the boar wheezed, staggered, and the whole carcass slammed heavily to the ground.

When I approached, the boar was already dead and was only heaving and twitching here and there. But the dogs, bristling, some tore at his belly and legs, while others lapped up the blood from the wound.

Then I remembered about Bulka and went to look for him. He crawled towards me and moaned. I walked up to him, sat down and looked at his wound. His stomach was torn open, and a whole lump of intestines from his stomach was dragging along the dry leaves. When my comrades came to me, we set Bulka’s intestines and sewed up his stomach. While they were stitching up my stomach and piercing the skin, he kept licking my hands.

They tied the boar to the horse's tail to take it out of the forest, and they put Bulka on the horse and brought him home.

Bulka was ill for six weeks and recovered.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy "Milton and Bulka"

I got myself a pointing dog for pheasants.

This dog's name was Milton: she was tall, thin, speckled gray, with long wings and ears, and very strong and smart.

They didn’t fight with Bulka. Not a single dog ever snapped at Bulka. Sometimes he would just show his teeth, and the dogs would tuck their tails and move away.

Once I went with Milton to buy pheasants. Suddenly Bulka ran after me into the forest. I wanted to drive him away, but I couldn’t. And it was a long way to go home to take him. I thought that he would not disturb me, and moved on; but as soon as Milton smelled a pheasant in the grass and began to look, Bulka rushed forward and began poking around in all directions. He tried before Milton to raise a pheasant. He heard something in the grass, jumped and spun; but his instincts were bad, and he could not find the trail alone, but looked at Milton and ran to where Milton was going. As soon as Milton sets off on the trail, Bulka runs ahead. I recalled Bulka, beat him, but could not do anything with him. As soon as Milton began to search, he rushed forward and interfered with him. I wanted to go home because I thought that my hunt was ruined, but Milton came up with a better idea than me how to deceive Bulka. This is what he did: as soon as Bulka runs ahead of him, Milton will leave the trail, turn in the other direction and pretend that he is looking. Bulka will rush to where Milton pointed, and Milton will look back at me, wave his tail and follow the real trail again. Bulka again runs to Milton, runs ahead, and again Milton will deliberately take ten steps to the side, deceive Bulka and again lead me straight. So throughout the hunt he deceived Bulka and did not let him ruin the matter.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy “Turtle”

Once I went hunting with Milton. Near the forest he began to search, stretched out his tail, raised his ears and began to sniff. I prepared my gun and went after him. I thought he was looking for partridge, pheasant or hare. But Milton did not go into the forest, but into the field. I followed him and looked ahead. Suddenly I saw what he was looking for. A small turtle, the size of a hat, ran ahead of him. Bare dark gray head on long neck was stretched out like a pestle; the turtle moved its bare paws widely, and its back was completely covered with bark.

When she saw the dog, she hid her legs and head and sank down on the grass, so that only one shell was visible. Milton grabbed it and began to gnaw it, but could not bite through it, because the turtle has the same shell on its belly as on its back. Only in front, behind and on the sides there are openings where it allows the head, legs and tail to pass through.

I took the turtle away from Milton and looked at how its back was painted, and what kind of shell it was, and how it hid there. When you hold it in your hands and look under the shell, it’s only inside, like in a basement, that you see something black and alive.

I threw the turtle on the grass and moved on, but Milton did not want to leave it, but carried it in his teeth after me. Suddenly Milton squealed and let her go. The turtle in his mouth released its paw and scratched at his mouth. He got so angry with her for this that he started barking and again grabbed her and carried her after me. I again ordered to quit, but Milton did not listen to me. Then I took the turtle from him and threw it away. But he didn't leave her. He began to hurry with his paws to dig a hole next to her. And when he dug a hole, he threw the turtle into the hole with his paws and buried it with earth.

Turtles live both on land and in water, like snakes and frogs. They hatch children with eggs, and they lay the eggs on the ground and do not hatch them, but the eggs themselves, like fish eggs, burst and hatch turtles. Turtles are small, no larger than a saucer, and large, three arshins in length and weighing twenty pounds. Large turtles live in the seas.

One turtle lays hundreds of eggs in the spring. A turtle's shell is its ribs. Only humans and other animals have separate ribs, but a turtle’s ribs are fused into a shell. The main thing is that all animals have ribs inside, under the meat, but a turtle has ribs on top, and the meat under them.

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov

Day and night, rustling sounds are heard in the forest. These are the trees, bushes and flowers whispering. Birds and animals chatter. Even fish say words. You just need to be able to hear.

They will not reveal their secrets to the indifferent and indifferent. But they will tell the inquisitive and patient everything about themselves.

In winter and summer, rustling sounds are heard,

In winter and summer, conversations do not stop.

Day and night...

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov “Forest Strongmen”

The first drop of rain hit and the competition began.

Three competed: boletus mushroom, boletus mushroom and moss mushroom.

The boletus was the first to squeeze out the weight. He picked up a birch leaf and a snail.

The second number was the boletus mushroom. He picked up three aspen leaves and a frog.

Mokhovik was third. He got excited and boasted. He parted the moss with his head, crawled under a thick twig and began to squeeze. I stung, stung, stung, stung, but I didn’t squeeze it out. As soon as he split his hat in two, he looked like he had a harelip.

The winner was the boletus.

His reward is the scarlet hat of the champion.

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov “Songs under the ice”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the song rings. She is alive and clean; Neither the stream, nor the fish, nor the icicles can sing like this. Only one creature in the world can sing like this - a bird...

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

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

- Hello, ice songster!

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

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

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

Why shouldn’t we listen to him!

Valentin Dmitrievich Berestov “Honest caterpillar”

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

- How good I am! - 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, 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 will ever, anywhere, for anything, under any circumstances, under any circumstances, 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, how tired I am! - 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.

"Horrible! - thought the Caterpillar. “I may not be beautiful, it’s not my fault, but now everyone will know that I’m also a liar.” I gave an honest assurance that no one would see me, and I didn’t keep it. A 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 ever see her.

Stories by Konstantin Ushinsky about the seasons: summer, winter, autumn, spring. On the behavior of children and animals in different times of the year. Stories about the beauty of nature.

Four wishes. Author: Konstantin Ushinsky

Mitya went sledding with ice mountain and on skates on the frozen river, he ran home, rosy, cheerful and said to his father:

- How fun it is in winter! I wish it were all winter!

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

Mitya wrote it down.

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

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

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

Summer has come. Mitya and his father went to haymaking. The boy had fun all long day: he fished, picked berries, tumbled in the fragrant hay, and in the evening he said to his father:

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

And this desire of Mitya was written down in the same book. Autumn has come. Fruits were collected in the garden - ruddy apples and yellow pears. Mitya was delighted and said to his father:

— Autumn is the best time of the year!

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

Children in the grove. Author: Konstantin Ushinsky

Two children, brother and sister, went to school. They had to pass by a beautiful, shady grove. It was hot and dusty on the road, but cool and cheerful in the grove.

- Do you know what? — the brother said to his sister. “We’ll still have time for school.” The school is now stuffy and boring, but the grove should be a lot of fun. Listen to the birds screaming there, and the squirrels, how many squirrels are jumping on the branches! Shouldn't we go there, sister?

The sister liked her brother's proposal. The children threw the alphabet into the grass, held hands and disappeared between the green bushes, under the curly birches. It was definitely fun and noisy in the grove. The birds fluttered constantly, sang and shouted; squirrels jumped on the branches; insects scurried about in the grass.

First of all, the children saw a golden bug.

“Come play with us,” the children said to the bug.

“I would love to,” answered the beetle, “but I don’t have time: I have to get myself lunch.”

“Play with us,” the children said to the yellow, furry bee.

“I don’t have time to play with you,” answered the bee, “I need to collect honey.”

-Won't you play with us? - the children asked the ant.

But the ant had no time to listen to them: he dragged a straw three times his size and hurried to build his cunning home.

The children turned to the squirrel, inviting it to also play with them, but the squirrel waved its fluffy tail and answered that it must stock up on nuts for the winter. The dove said: “I am building a nest for my little children.”

The little gray bunny ran to the stream to wash his face. White flower There was also no time to take care of the children: he took advantage of the beautiful weather and was in a hurry to prepare his juicy, tasty berries on time.

The children became bored that everyone was busy with their own business and no one wanted to play with them. They ran to the stream. A stream ran through the grove, babbling over the stones.

“You really have nothing to do,” the children told him. “Come play with us.”

- How! I have nothing to do? - the stream gurgled angrily. “Oh, you lazy children!” Look at me: I work day and night and don’t know a minute of peace. Am I not the one who sings to people and animals? Who, besides me, washes clothes, turns mill wheels, carries boats and puts out fires? “Oh, I have so much work that my head is spinning,” the stream added and began to murmur over the stones.

The children became even more bored, and they thought that it would be better for them to go to school first, and then, on their way from school, go into the grove. But at that very time the boy noticed a tiny, beautiful robin on a green branch. She sat, it seemed, very calmly and, having nothing to do, whistled a cheerful song.

- Hey you, cheerful singer! - the boy shouted to the robin. “It seems like you have absolutely nothing to do: just play with us.”

- How? - whistled the offended robin. - I have nothing to do? Didn’t I catch midges all day to feed my little ones! I am so tired that I cannot raise my wings, and even now I lull my dear children to sleep with a song. What did you do today, little sloths? You didn’t go to school, you didn’t learn anything, you’re running around the grove, and even preventing others from doing their work. Better go where you were sent, and remember that only those who have worked and done everything that was obliged to do are pleased to rest and play.

The children felt ashamed; They went to school and although they arrived late, they studied diligently.

Why do bird cherry buds come out in sharp peaks? It seems to me that the bird cherry tree slept in winter and in a dream, remembering how they broke it, repeated to itself: “Don’t forget how people broke me last spring, don’t forgive!”

Now in the spring, even some bird repeats everything in its own way, keeps reminding it: “Don’t forget. Don't forgive!

That's why, maybe, waking up from hibernation, the bird cherry got down to business and pointed, and pointed millions of angry lances at people. After yesterday's rain the peaks turned green.

“Piki-piki,” the cute bird warned people.

But the white peaks, turning green, little by little became taller and more blunt. Then we already know from the past how bird cherry buds will come out of them, and fragrant flowers from the buds.

Mikhail Prishvin “Wagtail”

(Abridged)

Every day we waited for our beloved harbinger of spring, the wagtail, and finally she flew in and sat on an oak tree and sat for a long time, and I realized that this was our wagtail, that she would live here somewhere...

Here is our starling, when it arrived, it dived straight into its hollow and began to sing; As soon as our wagtail arrived, it ran under our car.

Our young dog Swat began to figure out how to deceive her and capture her.

With a black tie in front, in a light gray, perfectly stretched dress, lively, mocking, she walked under the very nose of the Matchmaker, pretending not to notice him at all... She knows the dog’s nature very well and is prepared for an attack. She flies away just a few steps.

Then he, aiming at her, freezes again. And the wagtail looks straight at him, sways on her thin springy legs and just doesn’t laugh out loud...

It was even more fun to look at this bird, always cheerful, always efficient, when the snow began to slide from the sandy ravine above the river. For some reason, the wagtail was running along the sand near the water. He will run and write a line in the sand with his thin paws. He runs back, and the line, you see, is already under water. Then a new line is written, and so on almost continuously all day: the water rises and buries what was written. It is difficult to know what kind of spider bugs our wagtail caught.

Mikhail Prishvin “Crystal Day”

There is a primordial crystal day in autumn. Here he is now.

Silence! Not a single leaf above moves, and only below, in an inaudible draft, a dry leaf flutters on the cobweb. In this crystal silence, the trees, and old stumps, and dry monsters withdrew into themselves, and they were not there, but when I entered the clearing, they noticed me and came out of their stupor.

Mikhail Prishvin "Captain Spider"

In the evening, under the moonlight, fog rose between the birches. I wake up early, with the first rays, and see how they fight to penetrate the ravine through the fog.

The fog gets thinner and thinner, lighter and lighter, and then I see: a spider is hurrying and hurrying on a birch tree and descending from heights into the depths. Here he secured his web and began to wait for something.

When the sun lifted the fog, the wind blew along the ravine, tore off the cobweb, and it rolled up and flew away. On a tiny leaf attached to the web, the spider sat like the captain of his ship, and he probably knew where and why he should fly.

Mikhail Prishvin “Overlooked mushrooms”

The north wind is blowing, your hands are getting cold in the air. And the mushrooms are still growing: boletus mushrooms, boletus mushrooms, saffron milk caps, and occasionally white mushrooms are still found.

Eh, what a good fly agaric I came across yesterday. He himself is dark red, and from under the hat he pulled white trousers down along the leg, and even with pleats. Next to him sits a pretty little girl, all tucked up, her lips rounded, licking her lips, wet and smart...

It's freezing cold, but it's dripping from the sky somewhere. On the water, large drops become bubbles and float down the river with the fleeing mists.

Mikhail Prishvin “The Beginning of Autumn”

Today at dawn, one lush birch tree emerged from the forest into a clearing, as if in a crinoline, and another, timid, thin, dropped leaf after leaf onto the dark tree. Following this, until more and more dawned, different trees They began to appear to me differently. This always happens at the beginning of autumn, when after a lush and common summer, a big change begins and the trees all begin to experience leaf fall in different ways.

I looked around me. Here is a hummock, combed by the paws of black grouse. It used to happen that in the hole of such a hummock you would certainly find a feather of a black grouse or wood grouse, and if it was pockmarked, then you knew that a female was digging, and if it was black, it was a rooster. Now in the holes of the combed hummocks there lie not bird feathers, but fallen yellow leaves. And here is an old, old russula, huge, like a plate, all red, and the edges are curled up from old age, and water has been poured into this dish, and a yellow birch leaf is floating in the dish.

Mikhail Prishvin “Parachute”

In such silence, when without grasshoppers in the grass the grasshoppers sang in their own ears, a yellow leaf slowly flew down from a birch tree covered with tall spruce trees. He flew off in such silence that even the aspen leaf did not move. It seemed that the movement of the leaf attracted the attention of everyone, and everyone was eating, birch and pine trees with all their leaves, twigs, needles, and even the bushes, even the grass under the bushes, marveled and asked: “How could a leaf move and move in such silence?” And, obeying everyone’s request to find out whether the leaf moved by itself, I went to him and found out. No, the leaf did not move by itself: it was the spider, wanting to descend, that weighed it down and made it its parachute: a small spider landed on this leaf.

Mikhail Prishvin “First Frost”

The night passed under a large, clear moon, and by morning the first frost had settled. Everything was gray, but the puddles did not freeze. When the sun appeared and warmed up, the trees and grass were bathed in such heavy dew, the spruce branches looked out from the dark forest with such luminous patterns that the diamonds of our entire land would not have been enough for this decoration.

The queen, the pine tree, sparkling from top to bottom, was especially beautiful. Joy jumped like a young dog in my chest.

Mikhail Prishvin “Late Autumn”

Autumn lasts like a narrow path with sharp turns. First frost, then rain, and suddenly snow, like in winter, a white blizzard with a howl, and again the sun, again warm and green. In the distance, at the very end, a birch tree stands with golden leaves: as if frozen, it remains so, and the wind can no longer tear off the last leaves from it - everything that was possible was torn off.

The most late fall- this is when the rowan shrivels from frost and becomes, as they say, “sweet.” At this time, the latest autumn comes close to the very in early spring, that only by yourself you recognize the difference between an autumn day and a spring day - in the fall you think: “I’ll survive this winter and rejoice in another spring.”

Mikhail Prishvin “Living Drops”

There was a lot of snow yesterday. And it melted a little, but yesterday’s big drops froze, and today it’s not cold, but it’s not melting either, and the drops hang as if alive, they shine, and the gray sky is suspended - it’s about to fly...

I was wrong: the drops on the balcony are alive!

Mikhail Prishvin “In the City”

That it’s drizzling from above and there’s abyss in the air—you don’t pay attention to that anymore. Water tremor in electric light, and there are shadows on it: a man walks on the other side, and his shadow is here: his head passes through the water tremor.

During the night, thank God, it fell out good snow, from the window in the morning darkness, by the light of the lanterns, you can see snow falling nicely from the shovels of the wipers, which means it’s not yet damp.

Yesterday, in the middle of the day, the puddles began to freeze, icy conditions began, and Muscovites began to fall.

Mikhail Prishvin “Life is immortal”

The time has come: the frost has ceased to be afraid of the warm sky, covered with heavy gray clouds. This evening I stood over a cold river and understood in my heart that everything in nature was over, that perhaps, in accordance with the frost, snow would fly from the sky to the ground. It seemed that the last breath was leaving the earth.

By evening it was getting colder over the river and gradually everything disappeared into darkness. All that remained was the cold river, and in the sky there were alder cones, the same ones that remain hanging on bare branches all winter. The frost at dawn lasted for a long time.

The streams from the car's wheels became covered with a transparent crust of ice with oak leaves frozen in it, the bushes near the road became white, like a blooming cherry orchard. The frost remained like that until the sun overcame it.

Here he received support and grew stronger, and everything on earth became blue, as in the sky.

How quickly time flies. How long ago did I make this gate in the fence, and now the spider has tied the upper ends of the lattice with a web in many rows, and the frost has transformed the web sieve into white lace.

Everywhere in the forest there is this news: every mesh of the web has become lacy. The ants fell asleep, the anthill froze over, and it was covered with yellow leaves.

For some reason, the last leaves on a birch tree gather on the top of the head, like the last hair of a bald man. And the entire fallen white birch tree stands like a red panicle. These last leaves sometimes remain as a sign that those leaves that have fallen have fallen for a reason and will rise again in the new spring.

Mikhail Prishvin “My Motherland”

(From childhood memories)

My mother got up early, before the sun. One day I also got up before the sun... My mother treated me to tea with milk. This milk was boiled in a clay pot and always covered with a ruddy foam on top, and under this foam it was incredibly tasty, and it made tea wonderful.

This treat decided my life in good side: I started getting up before the sun to drink delicious tea with my mother. Little by little, I got so used to this morning getting up that I could no longer sleep through the sunrise.

Then in the city I got up early, and now I always write early, when I’m all animal and vegetable world awakens and also begins to work in its own way.

And often, often I think: what if we rose with the sun like this for our work! How much health, joy, life and happiness would come to people then!

After tea I went hunting...

My hunt was then and now - in finds. It was necessary to find something in nature that I had not yet seen, and perhaps no one had ever encountered this in their life...

My young friends! We are the masters of our nature, and for us it is a storehouse of the sun with the great treasures of life. Not only do these treasures need to be protected, they must be opened and shown.

Needed for fish pure water- We will protect our reservoirs. There are various valuable animals in the forests, steppes, and mountains; we will protect our forests, steppes, and mountains.

For fish - water, for birds - air, for animals - forest, steppe, mountains. But a person needs a homeland. And protecting nature means protecting the homeland.

Stories for children about nature. Stories about fragrant flowers, about the wonderful smell of a beautiful forest, about a swan, about birds. Stories by Sergei Aksakov and Nikolai Sladkov.

Sergey Aksakov

NATURE'S POETRY

Which light air, what a wonderful smell wafted from the nearby forest and the grass that was mown early in the morning, replete with many fragrant flowers, which from the hot sun had already begun to wither and emit a particularly pleasant smell! The untouched grass stood like a wall, waist-high, and the peasants said: “What kind of grass! Bear is a bear! According to the green ones, high ranks Jackdaws and crows, having flown from the forest where their nests were located, were already walking around the mown grass. I was told that they were picking up various bugs, boogers and worms that had previously been hidden in the thick grass, but were now running in plain sight on overturned plant stems and on the bare ground. As I came closer, I saw with my own eyes that this was absolutely true. Moreover, I noticed that the bird also pecked berries. The strawberries were still green in the grass, but unusually large; in open places she was already keeping up. From the mown rows, my father and I picked a large bunch of berries, some of which were larger than an ordinary nut; Many of them, although they had not yet turned red, were already soft and tasty.

Sergey Aksakov

SWAN

The swan, due to its size, strength, beauty and majestic posture, has long been rightly called the king of all aquatic, or waterfowl.

White as snow, with shiny, transparent small eyes, with a black nose and black paws, with a long, flexible and beautiful neck, he is inexpressibly beautiful when he calmly floats between the green reeds on the dark blue, smooth surface of the water.

All the movements of the swan are full of charm: will it start to drink and, scooping up water with its nose, raise its head up and stretch its neck; will he begin to swim, dive and splash with his mighty wings, scattering far away the splashes of water rolling off his fluffy body; will he then begin to preen himself, easily and freely arching his snow-white neck back, straightening and cleaning with his nose the crumpled or dirty feathers on the back, sides and tail; whether the wing spreads through the air, as if a long slanting sail, and also begins to finger every feather in it with its nose, airing and drying it in the sun - everything is picturesque and magnificent about it.

Nikolay Sladkov

WAGTAIL LETTERS

There is a mailbox nailed to the garden gate. The box is homemade, wooden, with a narrow slot for letters. The mailbox had been hanging on the fence for so long that its boards had turned gray and woodworm had infested them.

In the autumn, a woodpecker flew into the garden. He clung to the box, tapped his nose and immediately guessed: there was wood inside! Right next to the crack into which the letters are dropped, he hollowed out a round hole.

And in the spring, a wagtail flew into the garden - a thin gray bird with a long tail. She flew up to the mailbox, looked with one eye into the hole made by the woodpecker, and chose the box for a nest. We called this wagtail the Postman. Not because she settled in the mailbox, but because she, like a real postman, began to bring and put various pieces of paper in the mailbox.

When the real postman came and put a letter in the box, the frightened wagtail flew out of the box and ran along the roof for a long time, squeaking anxiously and shaking its long tail. And we already knew: if the bird is worried, it means there is a letter for us.

Soon our postwoman brought out the chicks. She has worries and worries for the whole day: she needs to feed the chicks and protect them from enemies. As soon as the postman now appeared on the street, the wagtail was already flying towards him, fluttering right next to his head and squeaking anxiously. The bird recognized him well among other people.

Hearing the desperate squeak of the wagtail, we ran out to meet the postman and took newspapers and letters from him: we did not want him to disturb the bird.

The chicks grew quickly. The most dexterous ones began to look out of the crack of the box, twisting their noses and squinting from the sun. And one day the whole cheerful family flew away to the wide, sun-drenched river shallows.

And when autumn came, the wandering woodpecker flew into the garden again. He clung to mailbox and with his nose, like a chisel, he hollowed out the hole so much that he could stick his hand into it.

I reached into the box and took out all the Wagtail “letters.” There were dry blades of grass, scraps of newspaper, pieces of cotton wool, hair, candy wrappers, and shavings.

Over the winter, the box became completely decrepit and was no longer suitable for letters. But we don’t throw it away: we are waiting for the return of the little gray Postman. We are waiting for him to drop his first spring letter into our mailbox.

Interesting stories about forest animals, stories about birds, stories about the seasons. Fascinating forest stories for middle school children.

Mikhail Prishvin

FOREST DOCTOR

We wandered in the forest in the spring and observed the life of hollow birds: woodpeckers, owls. Suddenly, in the direction where we had previously planned interesting tree, we heard the sound of a saw. It was, as we were told, the collection of firewood from dead wood for a glass factory. We were afraid for our tree, we hurried towards the sound of the saw, but it was too late: our aspen lay, and there were many empty trees around its stump. fir cones. The woodpecker peeled all this off over the long winter, collected it, carried it to this aspen tree, laid it between two branches of his workshop and hammered it. Near the stump, on our cut aspen, two boys were doing nothing but cutting down the wood.

- Oh, you pranksters! - we said and pointed them to the cut aspen. “You were told to remove dead trees, but what did you do?”

“The woodpecker made a hole,” the guys answered. “We took a look and, of course, we cut it down.” It will still be lost.

Everyone began to examine the tree together. It was completely fresh, and only in a small space, no more than a meter in length, did a worm pass inside the trunk. The woodpecker obviously listened to the aspen like a doctor: he tapped it with his beak, realized the emptiness left by the worm, and began the operation of extracting the worm. And the second time, and the third, and the fourth... The thin trunk of the aspen looked like a pipe with valves. The “surgeon” made seven holes and only on the eighth he caught the worm, pulled out and saved the aspen.

We cut this piece out as a wonderful exhibit for a museum.

“You see,” we told the guys, “the woodpecker is a forest doctor, he saved the aspen, and it would live and live, and you cut it down.”

The boys were amazed.

Mikhail Prishvin.

SQUIRREL MEMORY

Today, looking at the tracks of animals and birds in the snow, this is what I read from these tracks: a squirrel made its way through the snow into the moss, took out two nuts hidden there since the fall, ate them right away - I found the shells. Then she ran ten meters away, dived again, again left a shell on the snow and after a few meters made a third climb.

What kind of miracle? It’s impossible to think that she could smell the nut through a thick layer of snow and ice. This means that since the fall I remembered about my nuts and the exact distance between them.

But the most amazing thing is that she could not measure centimeters like we did, but directly by eye she determined with precision, dived and reached. Well, how could one not envy the squirrel’s memory and ingenuity!

Georgy Skrebitsky

FOREST VOICE

Sunny day at the very beginning of summer. I am wandering not far from home, in a birch forest. Everything around seems to be bathing, splashing in golden waves of warmth and light. Birch branches flow above me. The leaves on them seem either emerald green or completely golden. And below, under the birches, light bluish shadows also run and flow across the grass, like waves. And the light bunnies, like reflections of the sun in the water, run one after another along the grass, along the path.

The sun is both in the sky and on the ground... And this makes it feel so good, so fun that you want to run away somewhere into the distance, to where the trunks of young birch trees sparkle with their dazzling whiteness.

And suddenly from this sunny distance I heard a familiar forest voice: “Kuk-ku, kuk-ku!”

Cuckoo! I've heard it many times before, but I've never even seen it in a picture. What is she like? For some reason she seemed plump and big-headed to me, like an owl. But maybe she's not like that at all? I'll run and have a look.

Alas, it turned out to be far from easy. I listen to her voice. And she will fall silent, and then again: “Kuk-ku, kuk-ku,” but in a completely different place.

How can you see her? I stopped in thought. Or maybe she's playing hide and seek with me? She's hiding, and I'm looking. Let's play it the other way around: now I'll hide, and you look.

I climbed into the hazel bush and also cuckooed once and twice. The cuckoo has fallen silent, maybe it’s looking for me? I sit in silence, even my heart is pounding with excitement. And suddenly, somewhere nearby: “Kuk-ku, kuk-ku!”

I am silent: better look, don’t shout to the whole forest.

And she’s already very close: “Kuk-ku, kuk-ku!”

I look: some kind of bird is flying across the clearing, its tail is long, it is gray, only its chest is covered in dark speckles. Probably a hawk. This one in our yard hunts sparrows. He flew up to a nearby tree, sat down on a branch, bent down and shouted: “Kuk-ku, kuk-ku!”

Cuckoo! That's it! This means that she does not look like an owl, but like a hawk.

I'll crow out of the bush in response to her! Out of fright, she almost fell out of the tree, immediately darted down from the branch, scurried off somewhere into the thicket of the forest, and that was all I saw.

But I don’t need to see her anymore. So I figured it out forest riddle, and besides, for the first time he himself spoke to the bird in its native language.

So the clear forest voice of the cuckoo revealed to me the first secret of the forest. And since then, for half a century, I have been wandering in winter and summer along remote untrodden paths and discovering more and more secrets. And there is no end to these winding paths, and there is no end to the secrets of our native nature.

Konstantin Ushinsky

FOUR WISHES

Vitya sledded down an icy mountain and skated on a frozen river, ran home rosy, cheerful and said to his father:

- How fun it is in winter! I wish it were all winter!

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

Mitya wrote it down.

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

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

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

Summer has come. Mitya and his father went to haymaking. The boy had fun all long day: he fished, picked berries, tumbled in the fragrant hay, and in the evening he said to his father:

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

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

Autumn has come. Fruits were collected in the garden - ruddy apples and yellow pears. Mitya was delighted and said to his father:

— Autumn is the best time of the year!

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

Vera Chaplina

WINGED ALARM CLOCK

Seryozha is happy. He moved with his mom and dad to new house. Now they have a two-room apartment. One room with a balcony, my parents lived in it, and Seryozha lived in the other.

Seryozha was upset that the room where he would live did not have a balcony.

“Nothing,” said dad. - But we will make a bird feeder, and you will feed them in winter.

“So only sparrows will fly,” Seryozha objected dissatisfied. - The guys say they are harmful, and they shoot them with slingshots.

- Don’t repeat nonsense! - the father got angry. — Sparrows are useful in the city. They feed their chicks with caterpillars, and hatch chicks two or three times during the summer. So consider how much benefit they have. Anyone who shoots birds with slingshots will never be a real hunter.

Seryozha remained silent. He didn't want to say that he, too, had shot birds with a slingshot. And he really wanted to be a hunter, and definitely like his dad. Just shoot accurately and learn everything from the tracks.

Dad kept his promise, and on the first day off they got to work. Seryozha provided nails and planks, and dad planed and hammered them together.

When the work was finished, dad took the feeder and nailed it right under the window. He did this on purpose so that in winter he could pour food through the window for the birds. Mom praised their work, but there’s nothing to say about Seryozha: now he himself liked his father’s idea.

- Dad, will we start feeding the birds soon? - he asked when everything was ready. - After all, winter has not yet come.

- Why wait for winter? - Dad answered. - Now let's begin. You think that when you pour out the food, all the sparrows will flock to peck it! No, brother, you need to train them first. Even though a sparrow lives near a person, it is a cautious bird.

And it’s true, as dad said, so it happened. Every morning Seryozha poured various crumbs and grains into the feeders, but the sparrows did not even fly close to her. They sat at a distance, on big poplar, and sat on it.

Seryozha was very upset. He really thought that as soon as the food was poured out, the sparrows would immediately fly to the window.

“Nothing,” dad consoled him. “They’ll see that no one is offending them, and they’ll stop being afraid.” Just don't hang around the window.

Seryozha followed all his father’s advice exactly. And soon I began to notice that every day the birds became bolder and bolder. Now they were already landing on the nearby branches of the poplar, then they became completely brave and began to fly to the table.

And how carefully they did it! They will fly by once or twice, see that there is no danger, grab a piece of bread and quickly fly off with it to a secluded place. They peck there slowly so that no one can take it away, and then fly back to the feeder.

While it was autumn, Seryozha fed the sparrows with bread, but when winter came, he began to give them more grain. Because the bread froze quickly, the sparrows did not have time to peck it and remained hungry.

Seryozha felt very sorry for the sparrows, especially when they started very coldy. The poor creatures sat disheveled, motionless, with their frozen paws tucked under them, and patiently awaited a treat.

But how happy they were about Seryozha! As soon as he approached the window, they, chirping loudly, flew in from all directions and hurried to have breakfast as soon as possible. On frosty days, Seryozha fed his feathered friends several times. After all, a well-fed bird can tolerate cold more easily.

At first, only sparrows flew to Seryozha’s feeding trough, but one day he noticed a titmouse among them. Apparently, the winter cold also drove her here. And when the titmouse saw that there was money to be made here, it began to fly every day.

Seryozha was glad that the new guest visited his dining room so willingly. He read somewhere that tits love lard. He took out a piece, and so that the sparrows would not drag it away, he hung it on a thread, as dad taught.

The titmouse instantly realized that this treat was reserved for her. She immediately grabbed onto the fat with her paws, pecked, and she seemed to be swinging on a swing. She pecked for a long time. It’s immediately obvious that she liked this delicacy.

Seryozha always fed his birds in the morning and always at the same time. As soon as the alarm clock rang, he got up and poured food into the feeder.

The sparrows were already waiting for this time, but the titmouse was especially waiting. She appeared from nowhere and boldly landed on the table. In addition, the bird turned out to be very savvy. She was the first to figure out that if Seryozha’s window knocked in the morning, she had to hurry to breakfast. Moreover, she was never mistaken and, if the neighbor’s window knocked, she did not fly in.

But this was not the only thing that distinguished the shrewd bird. One day it happened that the alarm clock went bad. No one knew that he had deteriorated. Even my mother didn't know. She could have overslept and been late for work if not for the tit.

The bird flew in to have breakfast and saw that no one was opening the window, no one was pouring food out. She jumped with the sparrows on the empty table, jumped and began knocking on the glass with her beak: “Let’s eat quickly!” Yes, she knocked so hard that Seryozha woke up. I woke up and couldn’t understand why the titmouse was knocking on the window. Then I thought - she was probably hungry and asking for food.

Got up. He poured food for the birds, looked, and on the wall clock the hands already showed almost nine. Then Seryozha woke up mom and dad and quickly ran to school.

From then on, the titmouse got into the habit of knocking on his window every morning. And she knocked at exactly eight o'clock. It’s like she guessed the time by the clock!

It used to be that as soon as she knocked with her beak, Seryozha would quickly jump out of bed and rush to get dressed. Of course, it will keep knocking until you give it food. Mom laughed too:

- Look, the alarm clock has arrived!

And dad said:

- Well done, son! You won't find such an alarm clock in any store. It turns out that you didn’t work for nothing.

All winter the titmouse woke up Seryozha, and when spring came, she flew into the forest. After all, there, in the forest, tits build nests and hatch chicks. Probably, Serezhina’s titmouse also flew off to hatch her chicks. And by the fall, when they are adults, she will return to Seryozha’s feeding trough again, and, perhaps, not alone, but with the whole family, and will again begin to wake him up in the morning for school.