Beautiful stories for children about the queen - autumn. Summary of the lesson on familiarization with fiction

(For children 5-6 years old)

Target: formation of skills of coherent sequential retelling of the text based on graphic diagrams.

Activation and enrichment vocabulary on the theme "Autumn". "Mushrooms";

Develop phrasal speech and the skills of compiling common answers to questions;

To form auditory and visual control of the correctness of the story, fine motor skills of the hands;

Cultivate the ability to admire the beauty of this season.

Equipment: ICT equipment, book by I.S. Sokolv-Mikitov, autumn leaves from paper by the number of children, presentation.

Preliminary work: conversations on the topic "Autumn", "Mushrooms", reading a story.

Lesson progress

Let's stand side by side in a circle

Say hello to each other

If everyone smiles.

good morning will start

Say to our guests - Good morning!!!

Guys, have you seen a new book on our shelf?

Do you want to review it?

(Sit on chairs.)

Guys, what do you think, looking at the illustration, you can find out what season the author writes about in this book? (Children's answers.)

Then carefully look at the illustration and tell me what season is shown here? (Children's answers.)

Why do you think it's autumn? Prove? (There are colorful leaves on the trees, yellow grass on the ground.)

See what berry turns red in autumn on the trees? (Rowan reddens in autumn).

What do you think this place is? (Forest, forest edge.)

What grows in the autumn in the forest? (Mushrooms grow in the forest in autumn.)

Guys, have you ever been to autumn forest did you pick mushrooms there?

What mushrooms did you collect?

Guys, remember, we talked about mushrooms and looked at pictures.

Who can name them?

Guys, I invite you to the clearing. Look, autumn gave us beautiful, colorful leaves. Let's make a fall.

Breathing exercises. Place the leaf in your palm and blow on the leaves to make them swirl in the air. (Put your lips in a tube, inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.)

Finger gymnastics.

One two three four five

Let's collect the leaves

birch leaves

rowan leaves

poplar leaves

aspen leaves

oak leaves

We will collect

We will take the autumn bouquet to the vase.

Guys, you are great, and we proved that the artist depicted autumn in the illustration. Now suppose that the author in this book also writes about autumn. You agree with me? (Children's answers.)

Guys, but how can we check our assumption, maybe the author is not writing about autumn? How can we check? (Children's answers.) I also agree with Artem, I suggest reading the story. Sit down and carefully listen to the story of I.S. Sokolov-Mikitov.

Reading a story

After a hot summer came gold autumn. Clouds run and run across the high sky. On warm days, a web flies over the ground. Mushrooms still grow in the forest: red-headed boletus, greenish and pink russula, slippery milk mushrooms and fragrant mushrooms. Thin-legged mushrooms are visible on old stumps. Ruddy cranberries are scattered over bumps in swamps. Clusters of mountain ash turn red in the forest glades.

Guys, did you like the story? You listened to him carefully, tell me, what time of the year comes after a hot summer? (After a sultry summer comes a golden autumn.)

What kind of sky do clouds run through? (Clouds run across the high sky.)

What flies over the earth on fine, warm days? (On fine, warm days, a sticky web flies above the ground.)

What mushrooms grow on the edges of forests? (Mushrooms grow along the edges of the forests: red-headed boletus, greenish and pink russula, slippery milk mushrooms, fragrant mushrooms.)

What is scattered over the bumps in the swamps? (In the swamps, ruddy cranberries are scattered over bumps.)

What berry turns red in forest glades? (Clusters of mountain ash turn red in forest glades.)

I suggest the game "Difficult words".

What does the word sultry mean? (Roast.)

What does golden mean? (Yellow.)

What is a kotka? (Small bump.)

What is a pouch? (The edge of the forest.) Well done!

Guys, I propose to relax and play in our clearing.

Physical education "Rain"

To us on a long thin leg (Jumping on one leg in a circle.)

Rain falls down the path

In a puddle - look, look! (Children face in a circle; rhythmic squats.)

He blows bubbles.

The bushes got wet (Hands up, shaking hands.)

The flowers are wet. ( Tilt, hands to the floor, shaking hands.)

Wet Gray Sparrow (Stand up, arms along the body, shaking with brushes.)

Dries feathers faster.

And now I will read the story again, you listen carefully and try to remember. You will tell the story yourself. (Rereading the story.)

Guys, try to use words and expressions from the text of Sokolov-Mikitov in your stories. Graphic diagrams will also help you, look at them on the screen. I propose to tell the story first in turn, starting with Masha one sentence at a time.

(Children's retelling of the story based on diagrams.)

Children go out, retell the story in a chain, in pairs and individually.

Guys, tell me, whose story did you like the most? (children's statements). I also liked your stories.

And now, tell me, what season did Sokolov - Mikitov write in this book? (children's answers).

Yes, guys, you are right, the story is called "Autumn in the Forest."

So our assumptions are correct? (Children's answers.) We were right Sokolov - Mikitov wrote in his book about autumn in the forest.

Guys, this story, you can tell your friends, parents.

Thanks guys, I was pleased to find the right solution with you, I think you were also interested. /

Russian forest is good in winter and summer, autumn and spring. On a quiet day you go out, it happened, into the forest on skis - you breathe and you won’t breathe. Deep, clean snowdrifts lie under the trees. Above forest paths lacy white arches bent under the weight of hoarfrost trunks of young birch trees. Dark green branches of tall and small firs are covered with heavy caps of white snow. No, no, this will break white hat from the top of a tall spruce, it will crumble into silvery light dust - and a green spruce branch freed from the weight of snow sways for a long time. The high tops of the firs are studded with a necklace purple cones . With a cheerful whistle they fly from spruce to spruce, flocks of busty crossbills sway on cones.

You walk through the winter quiet forest and do not stop looking. Tall, motionless pines sleep. The bluish shadows of their slender trunks lie on the white, untouched snowdrifts. It is quiet in the sleeping forest, but a sensitive ear picks up living subtle sounds. Here, somewhere, a spotted woodpecker rattled and screamed, flying from tree to tree. A gray, reddish hazel grouse noisily fell off a branch and disappeared into the depths of the forest. A naughty squirrel pulls a ripe cone at the top of a spruce, dropping dark light husks, resinous gnawed rods on the snow. Noiselessly flew by the edge of the forest, bluish jays screamed.

The forest fills with invisible life. Light traces of squirrels, small traces of forest mice and birds stretch from tree to tree. Only a very attentive person can observe life winter forest. You need to be able to walk quietly, listen and stop. Then all the beauty of the sleeping winter forest will open before you.

The forest is good in early and late spring, when the turbulent life hidden from eyes and ears begins to awaken in it. melts winter snow. Overhead, thin birch branches showered with swollen resinous buds are visible. More and more heard in the forest bird voices. The first migratory birds begin to sing, capercaillie lek in remote places. Fallen needles are strewn under the spruce nostril snow. The first thawed patches appeared on the forest glades. On the exposed tussocks, strong green lingonberry leaves are visible. In some places, when warm, they begin to bloom, snowdrops-coppices grow like a carpet. It smells of resinous buds, tree bark. Thrushes sing. On the top tall tree, all in the rays of the rising sun, cooing wild pigeon.

A joyful day will come - the edge of the birch forest will be covered with a green haze. Cuckoos cuckoo. In the mornings, before dawn, the red-browed beauties of the black grouse flock to the current.

In the evening, over the peaks of the forest, they pull, horkay and circus, long-nosed woodcocks. Wild ducks quack over the river. On the edge of the forest swamp, high in the sky, a snipe ram is running.

Much can be heard in the awakening spring forest. Fritillaries squeak thinly, invisible owls goog at night. In the impenetrable swamp, the cranes that have arrived in the spring lead round dances. Bees buzz over the yellow golden puffs of the flowering willow. And in the bushes on the banks of the river, the first nightingale sang loudly.

Which of you has not been in a hot summer in a cool dark forest? The most vociferous birds-singers have fallen silent, the sonorous nightingales no longer sing along the edges of the forest.

You walk through the forest, looking carefully - you need to be able to find mushroom places, to know where which mushroom grows. Here under the trees mixed forest the cap of the boletus blushes. You bend down, cut off the thick root of the mushroom with a knife, carefully put the find in the basket. Somewhere there are strong mushrooms. It's nice to pick up a coldish mushroom. Here, beautiful red fly agarics scattered in a wide round dance in a clearing. In the pine forest come across mushrooms. In a young birch forest, under the leaves of a tall fern, boletus mushrooms are densely sitting.

Fragrant tasty strawberries ripen in open forest glades. In the middle of summer, forest raspberries ripen. And along the edges of the swamps blueberries ripen, blush on green branches cowberry berries.

The Russian forest is especially beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Against a golden background of yellowed foliage bright spots of painted maples and aspens stand out. Slowly circling in the air, yellowed light leaves fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of sticky cobwebs are stretched from tree to tree.

Quiet in the autumn forest. Fallen dry leaves rustle underfoot. In some places, the hat of the late boletus turns red. A hazel grouse will whistle thinly, cranes flying in a school will call high in the sky.

Something sad, farewell is heard and seen in the autumn forest. You used to walk through such an autumn forest, colored with colors, - the soul is filled with a musical, poetic feeling. Indian summer called in the village this short autumn time.

The air is clear and pure in autumn, clear water in forest streams: each is visible at the bottom of the pebble. The late fall flowers are still blooming. Songbirds are preparing to fly away. No, no, a thrush will crackle in the forest, a hard-working woodpecker will knock on a dry tree. Still green, dropping ripe acorns, an old branchy oak stands on the edge of the forest. But the tops of the birches are already bare. Against the dark background of a continuous spruce forest, one can clearly see bright colors aspens. Light yellowed willow leaves have already flown around, floating on the water. Well in the autumn flowery forest. For a long time I do not want to leave it, say goodbye to the golden autumn days.

Why are the cones on the firs purple?

Young spruce cones have a reddish-lilac color of covering scales. The bases of the cones are especially brightly "violet". Gradually, the color fades, the cones seem to “burn out” in the sun. By the time the seeds are dispersed, they become light brown. Cones that fall to the ground are saturated with moisture and blacken.

What does a squirrel eat in cones? Why are there only rods left?

The squirrel feeds on spruce seeds, deftly gnawing the resinous scales. Sometimes she does this on a tree, and then the ground below is densely strewn with spruce scales and bare rods. This is all that is left of the cones after the squirrel's "lunch". Often the squirrel "cuts" the bump, choosing a stump with an even saw cut for feeding. Such a place is called a "feed table". On the “table”, the squirrel leaves behind a neat pile of scales and a rod gnawed from all sides.

Who is a wild pigeon?

Vityuten is a pigeon, a wild pigeon. Vyakhiri build nests in the forest, choosing tall pines and spruces. In the spring, you can hear their loud cooing, sounding like a repeating "hooray-ukura ... hooray-ukura ...". Wild pigeons feed on the roadsides of forests. They often fly out to the fields, where they pick up crumbled grains of wheat, barley and other cereals.

What do woodcocks pull, "horkay and circus"?

Woodcock in German means "forest sandpiper". The spring mating flights of males are called "thrust". At dusk, the woodcock slowly flies (“pulls”) over the edges and forest roads. "Craving" ends when it gets completely dark. In flight, woodcocks make special sounds: “horror” (“horrr ... horrr ...”) and thinly “chik” (“tsik ... tsik ...”).

Russian forest is good in winter and summer, autumn and spring. On a quiet day, you go out, it happened, into the forest on skis - you breathe and you won’t breathe. Deep, clean snowdrifts lie under the trees. Above the forest paths, lacy white arches bent under the weight of frost, the trunks of young birch trees. Dark green branches of tall and small firs are covered with heavy caps of white snow. No, no, such a white hat will fall off the top of a tall spruce, crumble into silvery light dust - and a green spruce branch freed from the weight of snow sways for a long time. The high tops of the firs are studded with a necklace of purple cones. With a cheerful whistle they fly from spruce to spruce, flocks of busty crossbills swing on cones.

You walk through the winter quiet forest and do not stop looking. Tall, motionless pines sleep. The bluish shadows of their slender trunks lie on the white, untouched snowdrifts. It is quiet in the sleeping forest, but a sensitive ear picks up living subtle sounds. Here, somewhere, a motley woodpecker rattled and screamed, flying from tree to tree. A gray, reddish hazel grouse noisily fell off a branch and disappeared into the depths of the forest. A naughty squirrel pulls at the top of a ripe cone of spruce, dropping dark light husks, resinous gnawed rods onto the snow. Noiselessly flew by the edge of the forest, bluish jays screamed.

The forest fills with invisible life. Light traces of squirrels, small traces of forest mice and birds stretch from tree to tree. Only a very attentive person can observe the life of the winter forest. You need to be able to walk quietly, listen and stop. Then all the beauty of the sleeping winter forest will open before you.

The forest is good in early and late spring, when the turbulent life hidden from eyes and ears begins to awaken in it. Melting winter snow. Overhead, thin birch branches covered with puffed-up resinous buds are visible. More and more bird voices are heard in the forest. The first migratory birds begin to sing, capercaillie lek in remote places. Fallen needles are strewn under the spruce nostril snow. The first thawed patches appeared on the forest glades. On the exposed tussocks, strong green lingonberry leaves are visible. In some places, when warm, they begin to bloom, snowdrops-coppices grow like a carpet. It smells of resinous buds, tree bark. Thrushes sing. At the top of a tall tree, all in the rays of the rising sun, a wild pigeon is cooing.

A joyful day will come - the edge of the birch forest will be covered with a green haze. Cuckoos cuckoo. In the mornings, before dawn, the red-browed beauties of the black grouse flock to the current.

In the evening, long-nosed woodcocks are pulled over the tops of the forest, horkay and circus. Wild ducks quack over the river. On the edge of the forest swamp, high in the sky, a snipe ram is running.

Much can be heard in the awakening spring forest. Fritillaries squeak thinly, invisible owls goog at night. In the impenetrable swamp, the cranes that have arrived in the spring lead round dances. Bees buzz over the yellow golden puffs of the blossoming willow. And in the bushes on the banks of the river, the first nightingale sang loudly.

Which of you has not been in a hot summer in a cool dark forest? The most vociferous birds-singers have fallen silent, the sonorous nightingales no longer sing along the edges of the forest.

You walk through the forest, taking a good look - you need to be able to find mushroom places, to know where which mushroom grows. Here, under the trees of the mixed forest, the cap of the boletus reddens. You bend down, cut off the thick root of the mushroom with a knife, carefully put the find in the basket. Somewhere there are strong mushrooms. It's nice to pick up a coldish mushroom. Here, beautiful red fly agarics scattered in a wide round dance in a clearing. In the pine forest come across mushrooms. In a young birch forest, under the leaves of a tall fern, boletus mushrooms are densely sitting.

Fragrant tasty strawberries ripen in open forest glades. In the middle of summer, forest raspberries ripen. And along the edges of the marshes, blueberries ripen, lingonberries turn red on the green branches.

The Russian forest is especially beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Against a golden background of yellowed foliage, bright spots of painted maples and aspens stand out. Slowly circling in the air, yellowed light leaves fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of sticky cobwebs are stretched from tree to tree.

Quiet in the autumn forest. Fallen dry leaves rustle underfoot. In some places, the hat of the late boletus turns red. A hazel grouse will whistle thinly, cranes flying in a school will call high in the sky.

Something sad, farewell is heard and seen in the autumn forest. You used to walk through such an autumn forest, colored with colors, - the soul is filled with a musical, poetic feeling. In the village, this short autumn time was called Indian summer.

The air is transparent and pure in autumn, the water in forest streams is transparent: each one is visible at the bottom of a pebble. The late autumn flowers are still blooming. Songbirds are preparing to fly away. No, no, a thrush will crackle in the forest, a hard-working woodpecker will knock on a dry tree. Still green, dropping ripe acorns, an old spreading oak stands on the edge of the forest. But the tops of the birches are already bare. Against the dark background of a continuous spruce forest, bright colors of aspens are clearly visible. Light yellowed willow leaves have already flown around, floating on the water. Well in the autumn flowery forest. For a long time I do not want to leave it, say goodbye to the golden autumn days.

Sokolov-Mikitov I.S. Russian forest: for ml. school age / I.S. Sokolov-Mikitov; Artistic

I have a good Russian forest in summer, autumn and spring.

On a quiet winter day, you used to go out into the forest on skis, breathe and not breathe. Deep, clean snowdrifts lie under the trees. Above the forest paths, lacy white arches bent under the weight of frost, the trunks of young birches. Dark green branches of tall and small firs are covered with heavy caps of white snow. The high tops of the firs are studded with a necklace of purple cones. With a cheerful whistle they fly from spruce to spruce, flocks of red-breasted crossbills sway on cones.

The winter forest is full of invisible life. Light traces of squirrels, small traces of forest mice and birds stretch from tree to tree. Only a very attentive person can observe the life of the winter forest. You need to be able to walk quietly, listen and stop. Only then will all the wonderful beauty of the sleeping winter forest open before you.

The forest is good in early and late spring, when the turbulent life hidden from eyes and ears begins to awaken in it. Melting winter snow. Overhead, thin birch branches showered with swollen resinous buds are visible. More and more bird voices are heard in the forest. The first migratory birds begin to sing, heavy capercaillie lek in remote places. Fallen needles showered nostril snow under the fir trees. The first thawed patches appeared on the forest glades. On the exposed tussocks, strong green lingonberry leaves are visible. In some places, when warm, they begin to bloom, snowdrops-coppices grow like a carpet. It smells of resinous buds, tree bark. Thrushes sing. At the top of a tall tree, all in the rays of the rising sun, a wild pigeon is cooing.

A joyful day will come - the edge of the birch forest will be covered with a green haze. Cuckoos cuckoo. In the mornings before dawn, red-browed handsome black grouse flock to the current. In the evening, long-nosed woodcocks are pulled over the tops of the forest, hork and zvirka. Wild ducks quack over the river. On the edge of the forest swamp, high in the sky, a snipe ram is running.

Much can be heard in the awakening spring forest. Fritillaries squeak thinly, invisible owls goog at night. In the impenetrable swamp, the cranes that have arrived in the spring lead round dances. Bees buzz over the yellow golden puffs of the flowering willow. And in the bushes on the banks of the river, the first nightingale sang loudly.

Which of you has not been in a hot summer in a cool dark forest? The most vociferous birds have fallen silent, the sonorous nightingales no longer sing along the edges of the forest.

You walk through the forest, taking a good look - you need to be able to find mushroom places, to know where which mushroom grows. Here, under the trees of the mixed forest, the cap of the boletus reddens. You bend down, cut off a thick mushroom root with a knife, carefully put the find in a basket. In some places, strong mushrooms come across, it's nice to pick up a coldish mushroom. Here, beautiful red fly agarics scattered in a wide round dance in a clearing. In the pine forest come across mushrooms. Boletus mushrooms densely sit in a young birch forest.

Fragrant tasty strawberries ripen in open forest glades. In the middle of summer, forest raspberries ripen. And along the edges of the marshes, blueberries ripen, lingonberries turn red on the green branches.

The Russian forest is especially beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Against the golden background of yellowed foliage, bright spots of painted maples and aspens stand out. Slowly circling in the air, yellowed light leaves fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of sticky cobwebs are stretched from tree to tree. Quiet in the autumn forest. Fallen dry leaves rustle underfoot. In some places, the hat of the late boletus turns red. A hazel grouse will whistle thinly, cranes flying in a school will call high in the sky.

Something sad, farewell is heard and seen in the autumn forest. In the village, this short autumn time was called Indian summer. Transparent in autumn and clean air, clear water in forest streams. Each is visible at the bottom of a pebble. The late fall flowers are still blooming. Songbirds are preparing to fly away. No, no, a thrush will crackle in the forest, a hard worker woodpecker will knock on a dry tree. Still green, dropping ripe acorns, an old branchy oak stands on the edge of the forest. But the tops of the birches are already bare. Against the dark background of a continuous spruce forest, bright colors of maples and aspens are clearly visible. Light yellowed willow leaves have already flown around, floating on the water. It’s good in the autumn flowery forest, for a long time I don’t want to leave it, say goodbye to the golden autumn days.

The nights are darker, the morning mists are cooler. The dew does not dry until noon, the beads in spider webs sparkle like a necklace.

Necklaces, necklaces - a gift of autumn for a housewarming!

How long ago did elegant dances of butterflies and golden midges circle the meadows, the flowers died from the chirping of grasshoppers and the bumblebee suffocated in his velvet coat with a magnificent collar! Today everything is different. Grasses are mowed, haystacks darkened from the rains. Butterflies are not visible, the violins of violinist grasshoppers have fallen silent, and the fur coat has become fit for bumblebees. No one in the late flowers, only bumblebees, and they seem to have raised their thick black collars higher ...

In the morning, the wires of the power line are humiliated by swallows. Not today, tomorrow they are on their way.

The parade is carried out by killer whales. Everyone is here? Is everyone ready? As if on command, they all take off at once, make a circle or two over the fields, meadows, again humiliate the wires.

It's time to go, it's time. Goodbye, villages on hillocks! See you in the spring, fields and meadows of the dear side!

Ukhoronki

Everyone has their own little tricks, everyone hides as best he can. There are those that you can’t wait and you don’t think! Once in the fall, a beautiful mourning woman, a golden-eyed frog and a warty toad got into the habit of hiding under my canoe. I’ll turn the boat over in the morning, and the hangers-on are in all directions: a butterfly in flight, a frog in the water, a toad in the grass. I will return from fishing, I will turn the boat over for the night - the next morning under it is the same trinity!

And then he dismantled the woodpile - so the lizards hid between the firewood. Forest mice once settled in the birdhouse - the birdhouse turned into a mouse house. The shingles in the yard were folded - in it the bats lived. Every evening they flew out of the cracks and caught mosquitoes. Under the old trough, a family of shrews took root; so they darted back and forth in the evenings. The voles hid in the mound behind the house, every night the owl was on duty in the mound: would any one pop out? A spider in an eggshell settled in the mansions of white stone veins. And one dung beetle hid in a mushroom! He gnawed a passage in the leg and swarmed inside. So far, together with the mushroom, it didn’t hit the body. Although it was not called a load ...

Helpers are waiting

Trees, bushes and grasses rush to arrange their offspring.

Pairs of lionfish hang from the branches of the maple, they have already separated and are waiting to be plucked and picked up by the wind.

The grasses are also waiting for the winds: a bodyac, on the high stems of which lush tassels of grayish silky hairs are exposed from dry baskets; cattail, raising its stems with a top in a brown fur coat above the swamp grass; a hawk whose fluffy balls on a clear day are ready to scatter at the slightest breath.

And many other herbs, the fruitlets of which are equipped with short or long, simple or feathery hairs, are also waiting for the wind.

In the deserted fields, along the roadsides and ditches, they wait, but not the wind, but four-legged and two-legged ones: burdock with dry hooked baskets tightly stuffed with faceted seeds, a string of black three-horned fruits that so willingly pierce stockings, and tenacious bedstraw, small round fruitlets which they cling to and roll up in a dress so that they can be torn out only with a tuft of hairs.

Beginning of autumn

Today at dawn one lush birch stepped out of the forest into a clearing, as if in a crinoline, and another, timid, slender, dropped leaf after leaf onto the dark Christmas tree. Following this, as more and more dawn dawned, different trees I began to see 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 tussock, combed by the paws of black grouse. Previously, it used to be that in the hole of such a hummock you would certainly find a feather of a black grouse or a capercaillie, and if it is pockmarked, then you know that the female was digging, if black - a rooster. Now, in the pits of combed tussocks, there are not feathers of birds, but fallen yellow leaves. And then here is an old, old russula, huge, like a plate, all red, and the edges are wrapped up from old age, and a yellow birch leaf floats in the dish.

Aspen is cold

On a sunny day in autumn, young multi-colored aspens gathered at the edge of the spruce forest, densely one to the other, as if it had become cold there, in the spruce forest, and they went out to bask on the edge, as in our villages people go out into the sun and sit on the rubble.

autumn dew

It was overshadowing. Flies bang on the ceiling. The sparrows are herding. Rooks - in harvested fields. Magpie families graze on the roads. Roski cold, gray. Another dewdrop in the bosom of the leaf sparkles all day.

Windy day

This fresh wind knows how to speak tenderly to the hunter, just as the hunters themselves often chat among themselves from an excess of joyful expectations. You can speak and you can be silent: conversation and silence are easy for a hunter. It happens that the hunter tells something animatedly, but suddenly something flashed in the air, the hunter looked there and then: “What was I talking about?” I didn’t remember, and - nothing: you can start something else. So the hunting wind in autumn constantly whispers about something and, without saying one thing, goes on to another; here came the muttering of a young black grouse and stopped, the cranes cry.

leaf fall

Here a hare came out of the thick fir trees under a birch and stopped when he saw a large clearing. He did not dare to go straight to the other side and went around the whole clearing from birch to birch. So he stopped and listened. Whoever is afraid of something in the forest, it is better not to go while the leaves are falling and whispering. The hare listens: everything seems to him as if someone is whispering from behind and sneaking. It is possible, of course, for a cowardly hare to gain courage and not look back, but something else happens here: you were not afraid, you did not succumb to the deception of falling leaves, but just then someone took advantage and grabbed you in the teeth from behind under the guise.

rowan blushes

Morning is light. There are no cobwebs at all on clearings. Very quiet. I hear zhelnu, jay, thrush. Mountain ash is very red, birches begin to turn yellow. White, a little more moths, butterflies occasionally fly over the mowed grass.

autumn leaves

Just before sunrise, the first frost falls on the clearing. Hide, wait at the edge - what is only being done there, in a forest clearing! In the twilight of dawn, invisible forest creatures come and then begin to spread white canvases all over the clearing. The very first rays of the sun remove the canvases, and a green place remains on the white. Little by little, everything white disappears, and only in the shade of trees and hummocks do little white wedges remain for a long time.

In the blue sky between the golden trees you won't understand what's going on. The wind blows leaves or small birds gather in flocks and rush to warm distant lands.

Wind - caring owner. During the summer, he will visit everywhere, and even in the densest places he does not have a single unfamiliar leaf. But autumn has come - and the caring owner is harvesting his crops.

Leaves, falling, whisper, saying goodbye forever. After all, it’s always like this with them: since you broke away from your native kingdom, then say goodbye, you died.

last flowers

Another frosty night. In the morning on the field I saw a group of surviving blue bells - a bumblebee was sitting on one of them. I tore off the bell, the bumblebee did not fly off, shook off the bumblebee, it fell. I put him under a hot beam, he came to life, recovered and flew. And on the neck of the cancer, in the same way, a red dragonfly froze overnight and, before my eyes, recovered under the hot beam and flew away. And grasshoppers in huge numbers began to fall from under their feet, and among them were cracklings, flying up with a crack, blue and bright red.

Forest in autumn

And how beautiful this same forest is in late autumn, when the woodcocks arrive! They do not stay in the wilderness itself: they must be sought along the edge. There is no wind, and there is no sun, no light, no shadow, no movement, no noise; in soft air an autumn smell is poured, like the smell of wine; a thin mist hangs in the distance over the yellow fields. Through the bare, brown boughs of the trees, the still sky peacefully whitens; in some places the last golden leaves hang on the linden trees. The damp earth is elastic underfoot; tall dry blades of grass do not move; long threads glitter on the pale grass. The chest breathes calmly, and a strange anxiety finds in the soul. You walk along the edge of the forest, you look at the dog, and meanwhile your favorite images, your favorite faces, dead and alive, come to mind, impressions that have long since fallen asleep suddenly wake up; the imagination flies and flies like a bird, and everything moves so clearly and stands before your eyes. The heart will suddenly tremble and beat, passionately rush forward, then irretrievably drown in memories. All life unfolds easily and quickly, like a scroll; man owns all his past, all his feelings, forces, all his soul. And nothing around him interferes - there is no sun, no wind, no noise ...

And an autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when the birch, like a fairy-tale tree, all golden, is beautifully drawn in the pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than summer, a small aspen grove all sparkles through, as if it is fun and easy for her to stand naked, the frost is still whitening at the bottom of the valleys, and the fresh wind quietly stirs and drives the fallen warped leaves - when blue waves joyfully rush along the river, rhythmically lifting scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-covered with willows, and, motley in the bright air, doves quickly circle over it ...

Autumn day in a birch grove

I was sitting in a birch grove in autumn, about half of September. From the very morning a fine rain fell, replaced at times by warm sunshine; the weather was erratic. The sky was now all clouded over with loose white clouds, then it suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then behind the parted clouds a azure appeared, clear and gentle ...

I sat and looked around and listened. The leaves rustled a little over my head; one could tell from their noise what season it was then. It was not the cheerful, laughing thrill of spring, not the soft whispering, not the long talk of summer, not the timid and cold babble. late autumn but barely audible, drowsy chatter. A light wind blew a little over the tops. The inside of the grove, damp from the rain, was constantly changing, depending on whether the sun shone or was covered with clouds; at one time it lit up all over, as if all of a sudden everything was smiling in it ... then suddenly everything around it again turned slightly blue: the bright colors instantly went out ... and stealthily, slyly, the tiniest rain began to sow and whisper through the forest.

The foliage on the birch trees was still almost all green, although it had noticeably turned pale; only here and there stood one young woman, all red or all gold...

Not a single bird was heard: everyone took shelter and fell silent; only occasionally did the mocking voice of the tit tinkle like a steel bell.

Autumn

The chirping swallows flew south a long time ago, and even earlier, as if on cue, swift swifts disappeared.

In the autumn days, the children heard how, saying goodbye to their dear homeland, flying cranes were cooing in the sky. With some special feeling, they looked after them for a long time, as if the cranes were taking the summer away with them.

Quietly talking, geese flew to the warm south ...

Getting ready for cold winter people. Rye and wheat have long been cut down. Prepared feed for livestock. They pick the last apples in the orchards. They dug up potatoes, beets, carrots and harvest them for the winter.

The animals are getting ready for winter. The nimble squirrel accumulated nuts in a hollow, dried selected mushrooms. Little mice-voles dragged grains into their burrows, prepared fragrant soft hay.

In late autumn, a hardworking hedgehog builds its winter lair. He dragged a whole heap of dry leaves under the old stump. All winter will sleep peacefully under a warm blanket.

Less and less, the autumn sun warms more and more sparingly.

Soon, the first frosts will begin soon.

Mother Earth will freeze until spring. Everyone took everything from her that she could give.

Forest in autumn

The Russian forest is beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Against the golden background of yellowed foliage, bright spots of red-yellow maples and aspens stand out. Slowly spinning in the air, light, weightless yellow leaves fall and fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of light cobwebs stretched from tree to tree. The late fall flowers are still blooming.

Clear and clean air. Clear water in forest ditches and streams. Every pebble at the bottom is visible.

Quiet in the autumn forest. Fallen leaves rustle underfoot. Sometimes a hazel grouse will whistle thinly. And that makes the silence even louder.

Easy to breathe in the autumn forest. And I don't want to leave it for a long time. It's good in the autumn flowery forest... But something sad, farewell is heard and seen in it.

Antonov apples

I remember the early fine autumn. August was with warm rains at the very time, in the middle of the month. I remember early, fresh, quiet morning... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinned garden, I remember maple alleys, the delicate aroma of fallen leaves and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it's like it doesn't exist at all. Everywhere smells strongly of apples.

By night it becomes very cold and dewy. Breathing in the rye aroma of new straw and chaff on the threshing floor, you cheerfully walk home to dinner past the garden rampart. The voices in the village or the creaking of the gates resound through the icy dawn with unusual clarity. It's getting dark. And here's another smell: in the garden - a fire and strongly pulls the fragrant smoke of cherry branches. In the dark, in the depths of the garden - a fabulous picture: just in a corner of hell, a crimson flame is burning near the hut, surrounded by darkness ...

"A vigorous Antonovka - for a merry year." Village affairs are good if Antonovka is born: it means that bread is born too ... I remember a harvest year.

At early dawn, when the roosters are still crowing, you used to open a window into a cool garden filled with a lilac fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly in some places ... You run to wash yourself on the pond. The small foliage has almost completely flown from the coastal vines, and the branches are visible in the turquoise sky. The water under the vines became clear, icy and as if heavy. She instantly drives away the night's laziness.

You will enter the house and first of all you will hear the smell of apples, and then others.

Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floor have been empty, the weather, as usual, has changed dramatically. The wind tore and ruffled the trees for whole days, the rains watered them from morning to night.

Cold and bright shone in the north over the heavy leaden clouds liquid blue sky, and because of these clouds, the ridges of snowy mountains-clouds slowly floated up, the window closed into the blue sky, and the garden became deserted and boring, and the rain began to sow again ... at first quietly, carefully, then it got thicker and finally turned into a downpour with storm and darkness. It's been a long, unsettling night...

From such a beating, the garden came out completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow hushed, resigned. But on the other hand, how beautiful it was when the clear weather came again, the transparent and cold days of early October, the farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees until the first frost. The black garden will shine through in the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for winter, warming itself in the sunshine. And the fields are already sharply turning black with arable land and bright green with bushy winter crops ...

You wake up and lie in bed for a long time. The whole house is silent. Ahead - a whole day of rest in the already silent winter estate. You will slowly get dressed, wander around the garden, find in the wet foliage an accidentally forgotten cold and wet apple, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others.