Description: War Thunder is a next generation military MMO game dedicated to...
Before you plunge into the fascinating world of forest nature, we will tell you about the author of these works.
Biography of Nikolai Sladkov
Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in 1920 in Moscow, but his whole life was spent in Leningrad and in Tsarskoye Selo, famous for its magnificent parks. Here Nikolai discovered the beautiful and unique life of nature, which became the main theme of his work.
While still a schoolboy, he began to keep a diary, where he wrote down his impressions and observations. In addition, he began to study in the circle of young naturalists at the Leningrad Zoological Institute. Here he met the famous naturalist writer Vitaly Bianchi, who called this circle the "Columbian Club". In the summer, the guys came to Bianki in the Novgorod region to study the secrets of the forest and comprehend nature. Bianchi's books rendered on Nicholas big influence, a correspondence began between them, and it was Sladkov who considered him his teacher. Subsequently, Bianchi became a true friend of Sladkov.
When did the Great Patriotic War, Nikolai volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In the same specialty, he worked in Peaceful time.
Sladkov wrote his first book "Silver Tail" in 1953 (and there are more than 60 of them). Together with Vitaly Bianchi, he prepared the radio program "News from the Forest", answered numerous letters from listeners. He traveled a lot, visited India and Africa. As in childhood, he recorded his impressions in notebooks, which later became the source of the plots of his books.
In 2010, Sladkov would have turned 90 years old.
Nikolay Sladkov. How crossbills made squirrels jump in the snow
Squirrels do not really like to jump on the ground. If you leave a trail, a hunter with a dog will find you! Trees are much safer. From the trunk - to the knot, from the knot - to the branch. From birch to pine, from pine to Christmas tree.
There the kidneys will gnaw, there are bumps. That's how they live.
A hunter with a dog walks through the forest, looks under his feet. There are no squirrel tracks in the snow! And on spruce paws you will not see traces! On spruce paws there are only cones and even crossbills.
These are beautiful crosses! Males are purple, females are yellow-green. And the great masters peel the cones! The crossbill will tear off the cone with its beak, press it with its paw and let's bend the scales with a crooked nose, peel the seeds. It will bend the scale, bend the second and throw the bump. There are a lot of bumps, why feel sorry for them! Crossbills will fly away - a whole pile of cones remains under the tree. Hunters call such cones crossbow carrion.
Time goes by. Crossbills pluck everything and pluck the cones from the Christmas trees. There are very few cones on the fir trees in the forest. Squirrels are hungry. Whether you like it or not, you have to go down to the ground and walk downstairs, dig out crossbill carrion from under the snow.
A squirrel walks below - leaves a trace. Followed by a dog. The hunter is after the dog.
“Thanks to the crossbills,” says the hunter, “they lowered the squirrel to the bottom!”
By spring, all the cones on the fir trees will spill out last seeds. Squirrels now have one salvation - carrion. In the carrion, all the seeds are intact. Throughout the hungry spring, squirrels pick up and peel carrion. Now they would like to say thanks to the crossbills, but the squirrels do not say. They cannot forget how crossbills made them jump in the snow in winter!
Nikolay Sladkov. How the bear was turned over
Birds and animals have suffered from the hard winter. Whatever the day - a blizzard, whatever the night - frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in the den. I forgot, probably, that it's time for him to roll over to the other side.
There is forest omen: as the Bear rolls over to the other side - so the sun will turn to the summer.
The patience of birds and animals has burst.
Send the Bear to wake up:
- Hey, Bear, it's time! Winter is over for everyone!
We missed the sun. Roll over, roll over, bed sores, I suppose?
The bear does not hum in response: it doesn’t move, it doesn’t stir. Know snoring.
- Oh, to beat him in the back of the head! exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I think it would immediately move!
“No, no,” moaned the Elk, “you have to be respectful, respectful with him. Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you - roll over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not nice. We, moose, are standing in an aspen forest, like cows in a stall - you can’t take a step to the side. The snow is deep in the forest! Trouble if the wolves sniff us out.
The bear moved his ear, grumbles through his teeth:
- And what do I care about you, moose! The deep snow is only good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.
Here the White Partridge wailed:
- Aren't you ashamed, Bear? All the berries, all the bushes with buds were covered with snow - what do you order us to peck? Well, why should you roll over on the other side, hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!
And the Bear is his:
- Even funny! You are tired of winter, and I turn over from side to side! Well, what do I care about the kidneys and berries? I have a supply of fat under the skin.
The squirrel endured, endured - could not endure:
- Oh, you, shaggy mattress, it's too lazy to roll over, you see! And you would have jumped on the branches with ice cream, you would have skinned your paws to the blood, like me! .. Roll over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!
- Four five six! Bear laughs. - That scared me! And well - shoo otsedova! You interfere with sleep.
The animals tucked their tails in, the birds hung their noses, and they began to disperse. And then out of the snow the Mouse suddenly leaned out and how it squeaked:
— So big, but scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, short-haired, like that? He doesn't understand well or badly. It is necessary with him in our way, in a mouse way. You ask me - I will turn it over in an instant!
Are you a Bear? the animals gasped.
- With one left paw! boasts the Mouse.
The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear. Runs on it, scratches with claws, bites with teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a piglet, kicked his legs.
— Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, I'll roll over, just don't tickle! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!
And the steam from the lair is like smoke from a chimney.
The mouse leaned out and squeaked:
- Turned over like a little one! I would have been told a long time ago.
Well, as the Bear turned over on the other side - so immediately the sun turned to the summer.
Every day - the sun is higher, every day - spring is closer. Every day - brighter, more fun in the forest!
Nikolay Sladkov. What is the length of the hare
What is the length of the hare? Well, this is for whom. For a man, a small beast - with a birch log. But for a fox, a hare two kilometers long? Because for a fox, a hare begins not when she grabs him, but when she smells him on the trail. A short trail - two or three jumps - and the hare is small.
And if the hare managed to inherit and wind up, then it becomes longer than the longest animal on earth. It is not easy for such a big man to bury himself in the forest.
The hare is very sad about this: live in eternal fear, do not work up extra fat.
And now the hare is trying with all his might to become shorter. He drowns his trace in the swamp, tears his trace in two - he shortens himself. He only thinks how to run away from his trace, hide, how to break it, shorten it or drown it.
A hare's dream is to finally become himself, with a birch log.
The life of a hare is special. There is little joy for everyone from rain and snowstorms, but they are good for the hare: the trail is washed off and swept up. And there is nothing worse when the weather is calm and warm: the trail is hot, the smell lasts for a long time. No matter how dense it is, there is no peace: maybe a fox is two kilometers behind - it is already holding you by the tail!
So it's hard to say what the length of the hare is. Which is more cunning - shorter, dumber - more authentic. In calm weather, the smart one stretches out, in a snowstorm and downpour - and the stupid one shortens.
Whatever the day, the length of the hare is different.
And very rarely, when he is really lucky, there is a hare of that length - with a birch log - as a person knows him.
Everyone knows about this, whose nose works better than the eyes. The wolves know. Foxes know. Know and you.
Nikolay Sladkov. Bureau of Forest Services
Cold February has come to the forest. He piled snowdrifts on the bushes, covered the trees with frost. And the sun, although it shines, does not warm.
Ferret says:
"Save yourself, as best you can!"
And Magpie chirps:
"Every man for himself again?" Alone again? No to us together against a common misfortune! And so everyone says about us that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even embarrassing...
Here the Hare got involved:
- That's right Magpie chirps. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau forest services. I, for example, can help partridges. Every day I break the snow on winter trees to the ground, let them peck seeds and greens after me - I don’t feel sorry. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau at number one!
- There is a smart head in our forest! Magpie rejoiced. - Who is next?
- We're next! cried the crossbills. - We peel the cones on the trees, drop half the cones whole down. Use it, voles and mice, it's not a pity!
“A hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” Magpie wrote.
- Who is next?
“Write us down,” grumbled the beavers from their hut. - We piled so many aspens in the fall - enough for everyone. Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, juicy aspen bark and branches to gnaw!
And it's gone, and it's gone!
Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite to carrion, crows promise to show the landfill. Magpie barely manages to write down.
The wolf also choked on the noise. He spun his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:
"Sign me up for the Bureau!"
Magpie almost fell from the tree:
- You, Volka, in the Bureau of Services? What do you want to do in it?
“I will serve as a watchman,” Wolf replies.
Who can you guard?
I can take care of everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near aspens, partridges on greenery, beavers in huts. I am an experienced caretaker. Sheep guarded in the sheepfold, chickens in the chicken coop ...
- You are a robber from the forest road, not a watchman! Magpie screamed. - Pass, rogue, by! We know you. It’s me, Magpie, I’ll guard everyone in the forest from you: as soon as I see it, I’ll raise a cry! I’ll write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” What, I'm worse than others, or what?
So the bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But sometimes they help each other out. Anything can happen in the forest.
Nikolay Sladkov. Resort "Icicle"
Soroka sat on a snow-covered Christmas tree and cried:
- All migratory birds flew away for the winter, I alone, settled, endure frosts and blizzards. Neither eat hearty, nor drink tasty, nor sleep sweetly. And in the winter, they say, a resort ... Palm trees, bananas, frying!
- It depends on what wintering, Magpie!
- On what, on what - on the ordinary!
- Ordinary wintering, Magpie, does not happen. There are hot winters - in India, in Africa, in South America, but there are cold ones - like in your middle lane. Here we, for example, flew to you from the North to spend the winter. I am the White Owl, they are the Waxwing and the Bullfinch, Bunting and the White Partridge.
- Why did you have to fly from winter to winter? Soroka is surprised. - You have snow in the tundra - and we have snow, you have frost - and we have frost. What is this resort?
But the Whistler disagrees:
- You have less snow, and the frosts are lighter, and the blizzards are more gentle. But the main thing is the mountain ash! Mountain ash is dearer to us than any palms and bananas.
And the White Partridge disagrees:
- I’ll peck at delicious willow buds, I’ll bury my head in the snow. Nourishing, soft, not blowing - why not a resort?
And the white owl disagrees:
- Everything is hidden in the tundra now, and you have both mice and hares. Happy life!
And all the other winterers are nodding their heads and assenting.
- It turns out that I don’t need to cry, but have fun! It turns out that I live all winter at the resort, but I don’t even guess, Magpie is surprised. - Well, miracles!
“That’s right, Magpie!” everyone shouts. “And don’t be sorry about hot winters, you still won’t be able to fly so far on your short wings.” Live better with us!
Quiet in the forest again. Magpie calmed down.
Arriving winterers-resorts took up food. Well, those that are on hot winterings - so far not a word or a breath from them. Until the spring.
Nikolay Sladkov. Forest werewolves
The miraculous in the forest happens imperceptibly, without someone else's eye.
Today: I was waiting at dawn for a woodcock. Dawn was cold, quiet, clean. Tall firs rose at the edge of the forest like black fortress towers. And in the lowland, over the streams and the river, fog hung. Willows drowned in it, like dark pitfalls.
I watched the drowned willows for a long time.
It all felt like something was about to happen!
But nothing happened; fog from the streams slowly flowed down to the river.
"It's strange," I thought, "the fog doesn't rise, as always, but flows down..."
But then a woodcock was heard. Black bird flapping its wings bat, stretched across the green sky. I threw up my photo gun and forgot about the fog.
And when he came to his senses, the fog had already turned into frost! He covered the meadow with white. And how it happened - I overlooked. Woodcock averted his eyes!
Finished pulling woodcocks. The sun appeared. And all the forest dwellers were so happy with him, as if they had not seen him for a long time. And I stared at the sun: it is interesting to watch how a new day is born.
But then I remembered the frost; look, he is no longer in the clearing! The white frost turned into a blue haze; it trembles and flows over the fluffy golden willows. Overlooked again!
And he overlooked how the day was born in the forest.
It's always like this in the forest: let something divert your eyes! And the most wonderful and amazing will happen imperceptibly, without someone else's eyes.
Not far from the house of Nikolai Sladkov there were many old forest parks, where the future writer discovered a whole world, unusually rich in the secrets of nature. For days on end, he would disappear into the most remote places of the surrounding parks, where he peered and listened to the life of the forest. Wandering among the old trees, from childhood he was imbued with the wisdom of nature, learned to recognize the voices of a variety of birds. Not far from the house of Nikolai Sladkov there were many old forest parks, where the future writer discovered a whole world, unusually rich in the secrets of nature. For days on end, he would disappear into the most remote places of the surrounding parks, where he peered and listened to the life of the forest. Wandering among the old trees, from childhood he was imbued with the wisdom of nature, learned to recognize the voices of a variety of birds.
Since childhood, he loved and was interested in nature. Already from the second grade, he began to keep diaries, where he wrote down his first impressions and observations. With Vitaly Valentinovich Bianki - a wonderful writer who became his teacher, friend and like-minded person - he met as a young student. Since childhood, he loved and was interested in nature. Already from the second grade, he began to keep diaries, where he wrote down his first impressions and observations. With Vitaly Valentinovich Bianki - a wonderful writer who became his teacher, friend and like-minded person - he met as a young student. Together with Bianchi, for many years he prepared the radio program "News from the Forest", answered numerous letters from listeners. Together with Bianchi, for many years he prepared the radio program "News from the Forest", answered numerous letters from listeners.
The youth of the future writer fell on the war years. By the beginning of the war, he managed to finish the first year of the Hydrographic Institute and volunteered for the front. He served throughout the war in a motorized topographic detachment. After the war, remaining until 1958 a military man, Nikolai Ivanovich all his free time dedicated to the study of nature. The youth of the future writer fell on the war years. By the beginning of the war, he managed to finish the first year of the Hydrographic Institute and volunteered for the front. He served throughout the war in a motorized topographic detachment. After the war, remaining a military man until 1958, Nikolai Ivanovich devoted all his free time to the study of nature.
The profession of a military topographer helped Nikolai Ivanovich in his work on books. He discovered the mountains of the Caucasus and the Tien Shan, which he fell in love with for the rest of his life. Nikolai Ivanovich traveled a lot, usually alone, visited the Karakum Desert, the White Sea, India and Africa. The profession of a military topographer helped Nikolai Ivanovich in his work on books. He discovered the mountains of the Caucasus and the Tien Shan, which he fell in love with for the rest of his life. Nikolai Ivanovich traveled a lot, usually alone, visited the Karakum Desert, the White Sea, India and Africa.
In his youth, Nikolai Sladkov was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photography. With a photo gun, he wandered through the forests, climbed high into the mountains, swam with a mask in the lakes, admiring the underwater world. Numerous photographs taken during his travels, he used in his books. In his youth, Nikolai Sladkov was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photography. With a photo gun, he wandered through the forests, climbed high into the mountains, swam with a mask in the lakes, admiring the underwater world. Numerous photographs taken during his travels, he used in his books.
From everywhere he brought notebooks, which became the source of the plots of his stories. In 1953 his first book was published. It was called "Silver Tail". Then there were others: “The Nameless Path”, “Ten Shot Shells”, “Wagtail Letters”, “In the Forests of a Happy Hunt”, “I’m Walking Through the Forest”, “Planet of Wonders”, “Under the Invisible Hat” ... From everywhere he brought notes books that became the source of the plots of his stories. In 1953 his first book was published. It was called "Silver Tail". Then there were others: “The Nameless Path”, “Ten Spent Shells”, “Wagtail Letters”, “In the Forests of a Happy Hunt”, “I’m Walking Through the Forest”, “Planet of Wonders”, “Under the Invisible Hat” ... Nikolai Sladkov wrote in total over sixty books. In total, Nikolai Sladkov wrote more than sixty books.
The remarkable Russian writer Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov devoted all his work to nature. The remarkable Russian writer Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov devoted all his work to nature. Like every talented writer, he discovered something of his own in her and wrote about her. Like every talented writer, he discovered something of his own in her and wrote about her in his own way, unlike others ... others...
In his books, Sladkov talked about how beautiful and unique the life of nature is, about the mysteries that it makes us think about, about the endless diversity of the world around us. Nikolai Sladkov wrote about what he knew best, what he loved most and what he was most surprised at. For the book "Underwater Newspaper" he received the State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya. In his books, Sladkov talked about how beautiful and unique the life of nature is, about the mysteries that it makes us think about, about the endless diversity of the world around us. Nikolai Sladkov wrote about what he knew best, what he loved most and what he was most surprised at. For the book "Underwater Newspaper" he received the State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya.
All his life, Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov All his life, Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was a protector of nature, with all his work helping to appreciate and love he was a protector of nature, with all his work helping to appreciate and love her beauty, to see her extraordinary beauty, to see the extraordinary in nature with his own eyes. in nature with my own eyes.
From the book "Colorful Wings" For round spots on the wings, similar to the "eyes" of peacock feathers, they called this butterfly "peacock eye". But the “big-eyed” and bright peacock eye happens only when nothing threatens him. A disturbing shadow will flash a little, and he will quickly flap his wings, and turn into a dry, inconspicuous leaf. The trouble passes - the butterfly will open its wings again ... For round spots on the wings, similar to the "eyes" of peacock feathers, this butterfly was called the "peacock eye". But the “big-eyed” and bright peacock eye happens only when nothing threatens him. A disturbing shadow will flash a little, and he will quickly flap his wings, and turn into a dry, inconspicuous leaf. The trouble passes - the butterfly will open its wings again ...
Our largest butterfly: its wings are the size of a palm! She flies at night and looks like a bat in flight. And for the day he hides in a secluded place and sits motionless, folding his wings like a hut. But if you accidentally touch it, Our largest butterfly: its wings are the size of a palm! She flies at night and looks like a bat in flight. And for the day he hides in a secluded place and sits motionless, folding his wings like a hut. But if you accidentally touch it, the broad wings will tremble with a rustle and blink four big-eyed spots on them. You will be frightened, and the butterfly will fly away. wide wings will tremble with a rustle and four big-eyed spots will blink on them. You will be frightened, and the butterfly will fly away.
This butterfly does not hide its beauty: either it will open its wings, or it will fold. As if boasting: the wings are good both above and below! On the ground it's like yellow Maple Leaf. And in flight, like a paper boat ... This butterfly does not hide its beauty: it will open its wings, then it will fold. As if boasting: the wings are good both above and below! On the ground it is like a yellow maple leaf. And in flight like a paper boat ...
The butterfly is big, beautiful, it would flutter over a cheerful green meadow, but it flies over a dirty forest road, sits by a muddy road puddle. This butterfly has strange tastes: give him all kinds of rot! The worse it smells, the sweeter it is. The butterfly is big, beautiful, it would flutter over a cheerful green meadow, but it flies over a dirty forest road, sits by a muddy road puddle. This butterfly has strange tastes: give him all kinds of rot! The worse it smells, the sweeter it is.
From the book "Children of the Rainbow" The earth is multi-colored, like a rainbow. Everything is permeated with light and color, everywhere is a feast for the eyes. Again and again you are amazed at the miraculous creations of the masters of Nature: wind, water and sun. The beauty of the earth is our wealth! The beauty of the earth is our wealth! And we must protect it! And we must protect it!
Warbler The gray warbler's beak is so small that you can only grab a fly. You won't bring much food in such a beak. There are five chicks in the nest. And everyone has a mouth like a bag. And everyone shouts: “Me! To me! To me!" The gray warbler has a beak so small that you can only grab a fly. You won't bring much food in such a beak. There are five chicks in the nest. And everyone has a mouth like a bag. And everyone shouts: “Me! To me! To me!"
Gopher Frozen ground squirrel Frozen ground squirrel in a cold hole and crawled out to bask in the sun. He stood up like a circus dog, folded his paws on his stomach. in a cold hole and crawled out to bask in the sun. He stood up like a circus dog, folded his paws on his stomach. And he blinked. Good! And he blinked. Good!
This is not a simple hedgehog - eared. The ears are large and very sensitive. You can’t live in the desert with others, it’s very quiet there at night. And you can get by with short-sighted eyes - it’s still dark, dark at night. This is not a simple hedgehog - eared. The ears are large and very sensitive. You can’t live in the desert with others, it’s very quiet there at night. And you can get by with short-sighted eyes - it’s still dark, dark at night.
AT underwater world It's not like it's on earth. You need to move there not standing, but lying down. It is very difficult to walk there, but it is easy to fly. And you can even jump upside down there. In the underwater world, it never rains or snows. In winter it is not white, but black: all winter it is an impenetrable night.
Nikolai Ivanovich died on June 28, 1996 at the age of 76. Nikolai Ivanovich died on June 28, 1996 at the age of 76. He was from the forest, from the fields, from the world of birds, insects, fish, hares, foxes and other living creatures. He was from the forest, from the fields, from the world of birds, insects, fish, hares, foxes and other living creatures. Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov dreamed of inviting people to communicate with the forest, herbs, rivers, their population, knowing how the human soul needed it. Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov dreamed of inviting people to communicate with the forest, herbs, rivers, their population, knowing how the human soul needed it.
Before you plunge into the fascinating world of forest nature, we will tell you about the author of these works.
Biography of Nikolai Sladkov
Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in 1920 in Moscow, but his whole life was spent in Leningrad and in Tsarskoye Selo, famous for its magnificent parks. Here Nikolai discovered the beautiful and unique life of nature, which became the main theme of his work.
While still a schoolboy, he began to keep a diary, where he wrote down his impressions and observations. In addition, he began to study in the circle of young naturalists at the Leningrad Zoological Institute. Here he met the famous naturalist writer Vitaly Bianchi, who called this circle the "Columbian Club". In the summer, the guys came to Bianki in the Novgorod region to study the secrets of the forest and comprehend nature. Bianchi's books had a great influence on Nikolai, a correspondence began between them, and it was him that Sladkov considered his teacher. Subsequently, Bianchi became a true friend of Sladkov.
When the Great Patriotic War began, Nikolai volunteered for the front and became a military topographer. In the same specialty, he worked in peacetime.
Sladkov wrote his first book "Silver Tail" in 1953 (and there are more than 60 of them). Together with Vitaly Bianchi, he prepared the radio program "News from the Forest", answered numerous letters from listeners. He traveled a lot, visited India and Africa. As in childhood, he recorded his impressions in notebooks, which later became the source of the plots of his books.
In 2010, Sladkov would have turned 90 years old.
Nikolay Sladkov. How crossbills made squirrels jump in the snow
Squirrels do not really like to jump on the ground. If you leave a trail, a hunter with a dog will find you! Trees are much safer. From the trunk - to the knot, from the knot - to the branch. From birch to pine, from pine to Christmas tree.
There the kidneys will gnaw, there are bumps. That's how they live.
A hunter with a dog walks through the forest, looks under his feet. There are no squirrel tracks in the snow! And on spruce paws you will not see traces! On spruce paws there are only cones and even crossbills.
These are beautiful crosses! Males are purple, females are yellow-green. And the great masters peel the cones! The crossbill will tear off the cone with its beak, press it with its paw and let's bend the scales with a crooked nose, peel the seeds. It will bend the scale, bend the second and throw the bump. There are a lot of bumps, why feel sorry for them! Crossbills will fly away - a whole pile of cones remains under the tree. Hunters call such cones crossbow carrion.
Time goes by. Crossbills pluck everything and pluck the cones from the Christmas trees. There are very few cones on the fir trees in the forest. Squirrels are hungry. Whether you like it or not, you have to go down to the ground and walk downstairs, dig out crossbill carrion from under the snow.
A squirrel walks below - leaves a trace. Followed by a dog. The hunter is after the dog.
“Thanks to the crossbills,” says the hunter, “they lowered the squirrel to the bottom!”
By spring, the last seeds will fall out of all the cones on the fir trees. Squirrels now have one salvation - carrion. In the carrion, all the seeds are intact. Throughout the hungry spring, squirrels pick up and peel carrion. Now they would like to say thanks to the crossbills, but the squirrels do not say. They cannot forget how crossbills made them jump in the snow in winter!
Nikolay Sladkov. How the bear was turned over
Birds and animals have suffered from the hard winter. Whatever the day - a blizzard, whatever the night - frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in the den. I forgot, probably, that it's time for him to roll over to the other side.
There is a forest sign: as the Bear rolls over to the other side - so the sun will turn to the summer.
The patience of birds and animals has burst.
Send the Bear to wake up:
- Hey, Bear, it's time! Winter is over for everyone!
We missed the sun. Roll over, roll over, bed sores, I suppose?
The bear does not hum in response: it doesn’t move, it doesn’t stir. Know snoring.
- Oh, to beat him in the back of the head! exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I think it would immediately move!
“No, no,” moaned the Elk, “you have to be respectful, respectful with him. Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you - roll over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not nice. We, moose, are standing in an aspen forest, like cows in a stall - you can’t take a step to the side. The snow is deep in the forest! Trouble if the wolves sniff us out.
The bear moved his ear, grumbles through his teeth:
- And what do I care about you, moose! The deep snow is only good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.
Here the White Partridge wailed:
- Aren't you ashamed, Bear? All the berries, all the bushes with buds were covered with snow - what do you order us to peck? Well, why should you roll over on the other side, hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!
And the Bear is his:
- Even funny! You are tired of winter, and I turn over from side to side! Well, what do I care about the kidneys and berries? I have a supply of fat under the skin.
The squirrel endured, endured - could not endure:
- Oh, you, shaggy mattress, it's too lazy to roll over, you see! And you would have jumped on the branches with ice cream, you would have skinned your paws to the blood, like me! .. Roll over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!
- Four five six! Bear laughs. - That scared me! And well - shoo otsedova! You interfere with sleep.
The animals tucked their tails in, the birds hung their noses, and they began to disperse. And then out of the snow the Mouse suddenly leaned out and how it squeaked:
— So big, but scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, short-haired, like that? He doesn't understand well or badly. It is necessary with him in our way, in a mouse way. You ask me - I will turn it over in an instant!
Are you a Bear? the animals gasped.
- With one left paw! boasts the Mouse.
The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear. Runs on it, scratches with claws, bites with teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a piglet, kicked his legs.
— Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, I'll roll over, just don't tickle! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!
And the steam from the lair is like smoke from a chimney.
The mouse leaned out and squeaked:
- Turned over like a little one! I would have been told a long time ago.
Well, as the Bear turned over on the other side - so immediately the sun turned to the summer.
Every day - the sun is higher, every day - spring is closer. Every day - brighter, more fun in the forest!
Nikolay Sladkov. What is the length of the hare
What is the length of the hare? Well, this is for whom. For a man, a small beast - with a birch log. But for a fox, a hare two kilometers long? Because for a fox, a hare begins not when she grabs him, but when she smells him on the trail. A short trail - two or three jumps - and the hare is small.
And if the hare managed to inherit and wind up, then it becomes longer than the longest animal on earth. It is not easy for such a big man to bury himself in the forest.
The hare is very sad about this: live in eternal fear, do not work up extra fat.
And now the hare is trying with all his might to become shorter. He drowns his trace in the swamp, tears his trace in two - he shortens himself. He only thinks how to run away from his trace, hide, how to break it, shorten it or drown it.
A hare's dream is to finally become himself, with a birch log.
The life of a hare is special. There is little joy for everyone from rain and snowstorms, but they are good for the hare: the trail is washed off and swept up. And there is nothing worse when the weather is calm and warm: the trail is hot, the smell lasts for a long time. No matter how dense it is, there is no peace: maybe a fox is two kilometers behind - it is already holding you by the tail!
So it's hard to say what the length of the hare is. Which is more cunning - shorter, dumber - more authentic. In calm weather, the smart one stretches out, in a snowstorm and downpour - and the stupid one shortens.
Whatever the day, the length of the hare is different.
And very rarely, when he is really lucky, there is a hare of that length - with a birch log - as a person knows him.
Everyone knows about this, whose nose works better than the eyes. The wolves know. Foxes know. Know and you.
Nikolay Sladkov. Bureau of Forest Services
Cold February has come to the forest. He piled snowdrifts on the bushes, covered the trees with frost. And the sun, although it shines, does not warm.
Ferret says:
"Save yourself, as best you can!"
And Magpie chirps:
"Every man for himself again?" Alone again? No to us together against a common misfortune! And so everyone says about us that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even embarrassing...
Here the Hare got involved:
- That's right Magpie chirps. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau of Forest Services. I, for example, can help partridges. Every day I break the snow on winter trees to the ground, let them peck seeds and greens after me - I don’t feel sorry. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau at number one!
- There is a smart head in our forest! Magpie rejoiced. - Who is next?
- We're next! cried the crossbills. - We peel the cones on the trees, drop half the cones whole down. Use it, voles and mice, it's not a pity!
“A hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” Magpie wrote.
- Who is next?
“Write us down,” grumbled the beavers from their hut. - We piled so many aspens in the fall - enough for everyone. Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, juicy aspen bark and branches to gnaw!
And it's gone, and it's gone!
Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite to carrion, crows promise to show the landfill. Magpie barely manages to write down.
The wolf also choked on the noise. He spun his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:
"Sign me up for the Bureau!"
Magpie almost fell from the tree:
- You, Volka, in the Bureau of Services? What do you want to do in it?
“I will serve as a watchman,” Wolf replies.
Who can you guard?
I can take care of everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near aspens, partridges on greenery, beavers in huts. I am an experienced caretaker. Sheep guarded in the sheepfold, chickens in the chicken coop ...
- You are a robber from the forest road, not a watchman! Magpie screamed. - Pass, rogue, by! We know you. It’s me, Magpie, I’ll guard everyone in the forest from you: as soon as I see it, I’ll raise a cry! I’ll write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” What, I'm worse than others, or what?
So the bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But sometimes they help each other out. Anything can happen in the forest.
Nikolay Sladkov. Resort "Icicle"
Soroka sat on a snow-covered Christmas tree and cried:
- All migratory birds flew away for the winter, I alone, settled, endure frosts and blizzards. Neither eat hearty, nor drink tasty, nor sleep sweetly. And in the winter, they say, a resort ... Palm trees, bananas, frying!
- It depends on what wintering, Magpie!
- On what, on what - on the ordinary!
- Ordinary wintering, Magpie, does not happen. There are hot winterings - in India, Africa, South America, and there are cold ones - like you have in the middle lane. Here we, for example, flew to you from the North to spend the winter. I am the White Owl, they are the Waxwing and the Bullfinch, Bunting and the White Partridge.
- Why did you have to fly from winter to winter? Soroka is surprised. - You have snow in the tundra - and we have snow, you have frost - and we have frost. What is this resort?
But the Whistler disagrees:
- You have less snow, and the frosts are lighter, and the blizzards are more gentle. But the main thing is the mountain ash! Mountain ash is dearer to us than any palms and bananas.
And the White Partridge disagrees:
- I’ll peck at delicious willow buds, I’ll bury my head in the snow. Nourishing, soft, not blowing - why not a resort?
And the white owl disagrees:
- Everything is hidden in the tundra now, and you have both mice and hares. Happy life!
And all the other winterers are nodding their heads and assenting.
- It turns out that I don’t need to cry, but have fun! It turns out that I live all winter at the resort, but I don’t even guess, Magpie is surprised. - Well, miracles!
“That’s right, Magpie!” everyone shouts. “And don’t be sorry about hot winters, you still won’t be able to fly so far on your short wings.” Live better with us!
Quiet in the forest again. Magpie calmed down.
Arriving winterers-resorts took up food. Well, those that are on hot winterings - so far not a word or a breath from them. Until the spring.
Nikolay Sladkov. Forest werewolves
The miraculous in the forest happens imperceptibly, without someone else's eye.
Today: I was waiting at dawn for a woodcock. Dawn was cold, quiet, clean. Tall firs rose at the edge of the forest like black fortress towers. And in the lowland, over the streams and the river, fog hung. Willows drowned in it, like dark pitfalls.
I watched the drowned willows for a long time.
It all felt like something was about to happen!
But nothing happened; fog from the streams slowly flowed down to the river.
"It's strange," I thought, "the fog doesn't rise, as always, but flows down..."
But then a woodcock was heard. A black bird, flapping its wings like a bat, stretched across the green sky. I threw up my photo gun and forgot about the fog.
And when he came to his senses, the fog had already turned into frost! He covered the meadow with white. And how it happened - I overlooked. Woodcock averted his eyes!
Finished pulling woodcocks. The sun appeared. And all the forest dwellers were so happy with him, as if they had not seen him for a long time. And I stared at the sun: it is interesting to watch how a new day is born.
But then I remembered the frost; look, he is no longer in the clearing! The white frost turned into a blue haze; it trembles and flows over the fluffy golden willows. Overlooked again!
And he overlooked how the day was born in the forest.
It's always like this in the forest: let something divert your eyes! And the most wonderful and amazing will happen imperceptibly, without someone else's eyes.
Nikolay Ivanovich Sladkov(1920-1996) - writer, author of over 60 books on nature. Member of the CPSU since 1952. 2009.
Biography
Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow, but lived most of his life in Leningrad. Since childhood, he loved nature and was interested in it. From the second grade he began to keep a diary, where he entered his first impressions and observations.
In his youth, he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting, put forward the call "Do not take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest."
During the war, he volunteered for the front, became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty.
Activity
The first book "Silver Tail" was written in 1953. In total, he wrote more than 60 books. Together with Vitaly Bianchi, he produced the radio program "News from the Forest". He traveled a lot, usually alone, these travels are reflected in books. He wrote a lot about the need to protect nature, protect endangered species, educate careful attitude to nature.
He repeatedly spoke out against the practice of keeping wild animals in captivity (including in zoos), arguing that the life of such animals is not complete.
Selected bibliography
The works included in the three-volume collected works of N. I. Sladkov, published in 1988 by the publishing house "Children's Literature" are highlighted:
- "Silver Tail", 1953.
- "Nameless path", 1956.
- "Planet of Wonders", 1963.
- "Miombo". Book about Africa, 1976.
- "Brave Photohunter", 1977
- "Whistle of the Wild Wings", 1977.
- "Drops of the Sun", a collection of short stories, 1978.
- « Aspen invisible», 1979 . Observations of flying squirrels made in childhood.
- "White tigers". Book about India, 1981.
- "Into the forest in riddles", 1983.
- "Colorful Land", 1984.
- "Under the cap of invisibility", 1986.
N. Sladkov also wrote many stories, including for children.
Awards and prizes
- State Prize of the RSFSR named after N. K. Krupskaya (1976) - for the book "Underwater Newspaper".
The books of Nikolai Sladkov describe a number of unusual events that happened to him during his travels.
- Planning to sail the Ili River downstream, N. Sladkov lost his kayak on the very first day of his trip. Then he swam part of the river to Balkhash by swimming on his back, placing an inflatable pillow under his head and putting his property and supplies on a rubber raft tied to his leg.
- Looking for snow leopard in the area of the city of Elburs, N. Sladkov climbed a mountain, climbed onto a mountain cornice and brought down a stone block. The block destroyed a section of the cornice and Sladkov was blocked on the cornice, where the nest of golden eagles was located. For 9 days he lived on this ledge, eating part of the prey that the eagles brought to the chicks. Then he went down, using for this the branches that made up the nest.
How the bear was turned over
Birds and animals have suffered from the hard winter. Whatever the day - a blizzard, whatever the night - frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in the den. I forgot, probably, that it's time for him to roll over to the other side.
There is a forest sign: as the Bear turns over on the other side, so the sun will turn to the summer.
The patience of birds and animals has burst. Send the Bear to wake up:
- Hey, Bear, it's time! Winter is over for everyone! We missed the sun. Roll over, roll over, bed sores, I suppose?
The bear does not hum in response: it doesn’t move, it doesn’t stir. Know snoring.
- Oh, to beat him in the back of the head! exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose it would immediately move!
“No, no,” moaned the Elk, “you have to be respectful, respectful with him. Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg: roll over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not nice. We, moose, are standing in an aspen forest, like cows in a stall: you can’t take a step to the side. The snow is deep in the forest! Trouble if the wolves sniff out about us.
The bear moved his ear, grumbles through his teeth:
- And what do I care about you, moose! The deep snow is good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.
Here the White Partridge wailed:
- Aren't you ashamed, Bear? All the berries, all the bushes with buds were covered with snow - what do you order us to peck? Well, why should you roll over on the other side, hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!
And the Bear is his:
- Even funny! You are tired of winter, and I turn over from side to side! Well, what do I care about the kidneys and berries? I have a supply of fat under the skin.
The squirrel endured, endured - could not endure:
- Oh, you shaggy mattress, it's too lazy to roll over, you see! And you would have jumped on the branches with ice cream, you would have skinned your paws to the blood, like me! .. Roll over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!
- Four five six! Bear laughs. - That scared me! And well - shoo otsedova! You interfere with sleep.
The animals tucked their tails in, the birds hung their noses - they began to disperse. And then out of the snow the Mouse suddenly leaned out and how it squeaked:
- So big, but scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, short-haired, like that? He doesn't understand well or badly. It is necessary with him in our way, in a mouse way. You ask me - I will turn it over in an instant!
Are you a bear? the animals gasped.
- With one left paw! Mouse boasts.
The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear.
Runs on it, scratches with claws, bites with teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a piglet, kicked his legs.
- Oh, I can't! - howls. - Oh, I'll roll over, just don't tickle! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!
And the steam from the lair is like smoke from a chimney.
The mouse leaned out and squeaked:
- Turned over like a little one! I would have been told a long time ago.
Well, as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned to the summer. Every day - the sun is higher, every day - spring is closer. Every day - brighter, more fun in the forest!
Forest rustles
Perch and Burbot
H odes under the ice! All fish are sleepy - you alone, Burbot, cheerful and playful. What's wrong with you, huh?
- And the fact that for all fish in winter - winter, but for me, Burbot, in winter - summer! You, perches, doze, and we, burbots, play weddings, caviar with a sword, rejoice, have fun!
- Come on, perch brothers, to Burbot for the wedding! We will disperse our sleep, have fun, have a bite of burbot caviar ...
Otter and Raven
- Tell me, Raven, wise bird, why do people burn a fire in the forest?
- I did not expect, Otter, from you such a question. They got wet in the stream, froze, so they kindled a fire. They warm up by the fire.
- Strange ... But in winter I always bask in the water. There is never frost in the water!
Hare and Vole
- Frost and blizzard, snow and cold. If you want to smell the green grass, nibble on the juicy leaves, endure until spring. And where else is that spring - beyond the mountains and beyond the seas ...
- Not beyond the seas, Hare, spring, not far off, but under your feet! Dig the snow to the ground - there is a green lingonberry, and a cuff, and a strawberry, and a dandelion. And sniff and eat.
Badger and Bear
- What, Bear, are you still sleeping?
- I'm sleeping, Badger, I'm sleeping. So, brother, I accelerated - the fifth month without waking up. All sides lay down!
- Or maybe, Bear, it's time for us to get up?
- It's not time. Sleep some more.
- And we will not oversleep spring with you from acceleration?
- Don't be afraid! She, brother, will wake you up.
- And what is she - will she knock on us, sing a song, or maybe tickle our heels? I, Misha, fear is heavy on the rise!
- Whoa! You'll jump up! She, Borya, will give you a bucket of water under the sides - I suppose you won’t lie down! Sleep while dry.
Magpie and Dipper
- Oh-oh-oh, Olyapka, did you think of swimming in the wormwood?!
And swim and dive!
- Will you freeze?
- My pen is warm!
- Will you get wet?
- I have a water-repellent feather!
- Will you drown?
- I can swim!
- BUT … a … Are you hungry after swimming?
- Aya, for this I dive, to have a bite with a water bug!
winter debts
Sparrow chirped on a dunghill - and jumps! And the Crow croaks with its nasty voice:
- What, Sparrow, rejoiced at, why chirped?
“The wings itch, Crow, the nose itches,” Sparrow replies. - Passion to fight hunting! And don't croak here, don't spoil my spring mood!
- I'll ruin it! - Crow does not lag behind. How can I ask a question!
- In scared!
- And I'll scare you. Did you peck crumbs in the garbage in the winter?
- Pecked.
- Did you pick up grain at the barnyard?
- Picked.
- Did you have lunch in the bird cafeteria near the school?
Thanks guys for feeding me.
- That's it! - Crow yells. “What are you thinking of paying for all this?” With your chirping?
- Am I the only one who used it? Sparrow was confused. - And the Tit was there, and the Woodpecker, and the Magpie, and the Jackdaw. And you, Crow, were...
- Do not confuse others! - Crow wheezes. - You answer for yourself. Borrowed - give back! Like all decent birds do.
- Decent, maybe they do, - Sparrow got angry. “But are you doing it, Crow?”
- I'll cry first! Do you hear the tractor plowing in the field? And after him, I choose all kinds of root beetles and root rodents from the furrow. And Magpie and Jackdaw help me. And looking at us, other birds are trying.
“You don’t vouch for others either!” - Sparrow rests. - Others may have forgotten to think.
But the Crow does not let up:
- And you fly and check!
Sparrow flew to check. He flew into the garden - there the Tit lives in a new nest box.
- Congratulations on your new home! Sparrow says. - For joy, I suppose I forgot about the debts!
- Do not forget, Sparrow, that you are! - Replies Sinica. - The guys treated me with delicious lard in the winter, and I will treat them with sweet apples in the fall. I guard the garden from codling moths and leafworms.
- For what need, Sparrow, did you fly into the forest to me?
“Yes, they demand payment from me,” Sparrow chirps. - And you, Woodpecker, how do you pay? BUT?
“I’m trying so hard,” Woodpecker answers. - I protect the forest from woodworms and bark beetles. I fight them without sparing my stomach! Even got fat...
“Look at you,” Sparrow thought. - I thought...
Sparrow returned to the dunghill and said to the Crow:
- Yours, hag, the truth! All for winter debts work out. Am I worse than others? How can I start feeding my chicks with mosquitoes, horseflies and flies! So that the bloodsuckers do not bite these guys! I'll pay back my debts!
He said so and let's jump up and chirp again on the dunghill. As long as there is free time. Until the sparrows hatch in the nest.
Polite Jackdaw
I have many acquaintances among wild birds. I know one sparrow. He is all white - an albino. You can immediately distinguish him in a flock of sparrows: everyone is gray, but he is white.
I know forty. I distinguish this one by impudence. In winter, it used to be that people hung food out the window, so she would immediately fly in and ruffle everything.
But I noticed one jackdaw for her politeness.
There was a blizzard.
In early spring there are special blizzards - solar. Snow whirlwinds curl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses look like rocks. There is a snowstorm at the top, from the roofs, as from mountains, snowy waterfalls flow. Icicles from the wind grow in different sides like the shaggy beard of Santa Claus.
And above the eaves, under the roof, there is a secluded place. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. In this recess, my jackdaw settled down. All black, only on the neck is a gray collar. The jackdaw basked in the sun and even pecked at some tidbit. Cubby!
If I were that jackdaw, I wouldn't give up this place to anyone!
And suddenly I see: another one flies up to my big jackdaw, smaller and dimmer in color. Jump-jump on the ledge. Wag your tail! She sat opposite my jackdaw and looked. The wind flutters it - so it wrings its feathers, so it whips with white grits!
My jackdaw grabbed a piece of her beak - and walked out of the recess onto the ledge! I gave way to a stranger's warm place!
And someone else's jackdaw grabs a piece from my beak - and on her warm place. She pressed someone else's piece with her paw - she pecks. Here is shameless!
My jackdaw on the eaves - under the snow, in the wind, without food. The snow cuts her, the wind wrings her feathers. And she, fool, suffers! Does not kick out the little one.
“Probably,” I think, “someone else’s jackdaw is very old, so they give way to her place. Or maybe this is a well-known and respected jackdaw? Or maybe she is small, but remote - a fighter. I didn't understand anything then...
And recently I see: both jackdaws - mine and someone else's - are sitting side by side on an old chimney and both have twigs in their beaks.
Hey, let's build a nest together! Here everyone will understand.
And the little jackdaw is not at all old and not a fighter. Yes, and she is not a stranger now.
And my friend big jackdaw is not a jackdaw at all, but a gal!
But still my friend gal is very polite. I see this for the first time.
Black grouse notes
Black grouse do not sing in the forests yet. Still only writing notes. This is how they write music. One flies from a birch to a white meadow, puffs out his neck like a rooster. And mince legs in the snow, mince. He drags his half-bent wings, the snow furrows his wings - he draws musical lines.
The second black grouse will fly off and follow the first one through the snow as soon as it starts! So the points with your feet on the musical lines and arrange: “Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si!”
The first one immediately into the fray: do not interfere, they say, to compose! Chufyrknet on the second yes on his lines behind him: “Si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do!”
He will drive away, raise his head up, think. He mutters, mutters, turns back and forth and writes down his mumbling on his lines with his paws. For memory.
Fun! They walk, run - line the snow with wings on musical lines. They mumble, they chime, they compose. They compose their spring songs and write them down in the snow with their legs and wings.
But soon the grouse will finish composing songs - they will begin to learn. Then they will fly up to high birch trees - from above, you can clearly see the notes! - and they will sing. Everyone will sing the same way, everyone has the same notes: grooves and crosses, crosses and grooves.
They learn everything and learn it until the snow melts. And it will come down - it does not matter: they sing from memory. During the day they sing, in the evening they sing, but especially in the morning.
They sing well, like the notes!
Whose thaw?
I saw Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on white snow.
- My! – shouted. - My thaw, since I saw it first!
There are seeds on the thawed patch, spider bugs swarm, the lemongrass butterfly lies on its side - it warms up. Magpie's eyes fled, and her beak was already open, but out of nowhere - Rook.
“Hey, grow up, I’ve already arrived!” In winter, she roamed through the crow's garbage dumps, and now on my thawed patch! Ugly!
- Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I dreamed about her all winter.” For a thousand miles to her in a hurry! For her sake warm countries left. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thaw!
- What is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - All winter in the south, he warmed himself, basked, ate and drank what he wanted, and returned - give him a thawed patch without a queue! And I froze all winter, rushed from the garbage heap to the landfill, swallowed snow instead of water, and now, a little alive, weak, I finally looked out for a thawed patch, and that one is taken away. You, Rook, are only dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch until it pecked at the crown of the head!
Lark flew up to the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
- Spring, the sun, the sky is clear, and you quarrel. And where - on my thaw! Do not overshadow the joy of meeting her. I want songs!
Magpie and Rook only fluttered their wings.
Why is she yours? This is our thaw, we found it. Magpie waited for her all winter, looked through all her eyes.
And maybe I was in such a hurry from the south to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.
- And I was born on it! squeaked the Lark. - If you look, you can also find shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember, it used to be, in winter in a foreign land, a native nest - and reluctance to sing. And now the song is torn from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
Skylark jumped up onto a bump, screwed up his eyes, his neck trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, murmured. Magpie and Rook gaped their beaks - they listened. They will never sing like that, their throat is not right, they can only chirp and croak.
They would probably have listened for a long time, languishing in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled up like a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out - sniffed.
- Did you hit the thaw hole right away? So it is: the earth is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Phew! Does it smell like spring? Spring, is it cha, are you upstairs?
- Spring, spring, digger! - Magpie shouted peevishly.
- Knew where to please! Grach growled suspiciously. Even if you're blind...
- Why do you need our thawed patch? screeched Skylark.
The mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - with his eyes he sees badly! sneezed and said:
“I don't need anything from you. And I don't need your thaw. Here I will push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it's bad for you. Quarrel, almost fight. Moreover, it is light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like in my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! You still have some kind of spring here ...
- How can you say that? Skylark was horrified. “Do you know, excavator, what spring is!”
I don't know and I don't want to know! Mole snorted. - I don’t need any spring, I have the same underground all year round.
- In the spring, thawed patches appear, - Magpie, Lark and Rook said dreamily.
“And scandals begin on thawed patches,” the Mole snorted again. – And for what? Thaw like thaw.
- Don't tell me! Magpie jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.
- Sit, walk, stretch! Grach growled. - nose in warm earth rummage!
- And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! Skylark yelled. - How many thawed patches in the field - so many larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than a thaw in spring.
- Why are you arguing then? Mole didn't understand. - The lark wants to sing - let him sing. Rook wants to march - let him march.
- Correctly! Soroka said. - And while I'm busy with seeds and beetles ...
Here the shouting and squabbling began again.
And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered over them to meet spring. Sing songs, dig in the warm earth, kill the worm.
- It's time for me too! The mole said. And he fell into a place where there is no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where even to argue with no one. Where it's always dark and quiet.
