Story about the seasons

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According to the laws of nature, there are four seasons in the world - winter begins and ends the year, then the cold recedes, giving way to spring, followed by hot summer, and after it, already - autumn. All these times are completely different, but this is what makes them unique. Thanks to the annual successive alternation of seasons, the balance in nature is maintained.

For some, the most favorite time of the year is winter. Most often, children love it, for whom this is the long-awaited time for skating and skiing, making a snowman and throwing snowballs until the mittens are completely wet and the parents drive home. For some, winter is associated with the approach of the New Year - a wonderful holiday when each family member helps decorate the Christmas tree and prepare the festive table, and then give gifts. Only at the end of winter, the first flowers of extraordinary beauty appear - snowdrops.

Winter is replaced by a warmer season - spring. With its appearance, nature comes to life again, smoothly awakening from a strong winter sleep. The first leaves begin to appear on the trees, the birds return from the warm edges, the world turns green again. Many wonderful holidays are celebrated in the spring - Defender of the Fatherland Day, Women's Day, Cosmonautics Day, Easter, Victory Day.

After spring comes the long-awaited season for many children and adults - summer. This is the season of fresh vegetables and fruits, evening walks to the sea, vacations, and, of course, summer holidays. In summer it is always warm and sunny, you can travel a lot, go on picnics, often meet with friends.

With the onset of autumn, coolness returns again. The season of harvesting and preparing for the winter cold begins. Nature tries on golden outfits, the last leaves smoothly fly around from the trees. Autumn is one of the most beautiful and picturesque times of the year, it is not for nothing that many writers in their work sang the charm of autumn, including the great Russian poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin.

There are no bad seasons, each of them has many positive aspects. Let it be too hot in summer, cold in winter, rainy in autumn, and in spring the weather is changeable, each of them is beautiful in its own way. People just need to be able to notice something good in all seasons and rejoice at the onset of each of them.

Version 2

The four seasons are very unusual seasons that are considered special. In spring, the area of ​​real natural elements awakens, in summer everything is fragrant, the exquisite autumn time inspires, the winter frost pacifies. Natural states in all seasons are unusually attractive, like a heroine from a fairy tale who tries on different outfits for herself.

Whatever happens on the street, no matter what the weather is today, maybe dank, slushy or sultry, it will always convey the emotions and colors of its season. You can always look out the window with a positive, despite the rain or falling wet snow, you can be joyful and treat with love and gratitude the right that nature gives us, alternating seasons.

Manifestation of Spring

In the first steps of spring, nature begins to wake up from a long winter slumber. Every day it gets warmer, the leaves open, and everything begins to turn green, and in the forest thicket it is already possible to see animals and distinguish the playful singing of birds. The snowball is getting smaller and smaller, but it is still quite cloudy.

The main sign of the arrival of true spring is the appearance of the first spring flowers. Warm weather sets in, the days are more sunny, and drizzling rain waters the blossoming trees. The time of the early May thunderstorms is approaching, which tell us that a joyful summer has come.

Beautiful summer

Summer fields and plains are like a fragrant vegetable tablecloth, and forests play with riotous colors. Summer mood reigns all around. The heat and hot sun make everyone look for shade. Only the coolness of a summer rain will allow you to see the true natural beauty - a rainbow. Already at the end of summer, the leaves begin to turn yellow, which tells us about the upcoming autumn.

Autumn frowns

Autumn is considered a rainy season, and many do not want to get out of the house, so as not to get wet in the pouring rain. At this time, the weather is very changeable. That pleases the warm sun, and after a short time impenetrable clouds appear in the sky. Rain.

Harsh winter

Winter is considered by many to be a real snow queen. She brings a lot of joy with her snow-white blanket. There are strict rules of winter, which it is important not to forget. Gloomy short days give way to long cold nights. All nature is in deep hibernation.

But do not forget that every season is beautiful and amazing!

Composition on the theme of the seasons

There are four seasons on our planet - autumn, winter, spring, and summer, respectively. Each period of time is beautiful in its own way, and also has its drawbacks in contrast to other seasons, because of which there are people who, for example, like winter, but like summer, or vice versa, like summer, but do not like winter. People are different, which is why, accordingly, everyone has different tastes for weather conditions and seasons.

Autumn is the rainy season that comes after summer and before winter. With its cold and damp weather, it portends the approach of the beautiful winter. In autumn, leaves fall from trees, animals and nature prepare for wintering. Also, this period of time often characterizes itself as the rainiest.

Immediately after autumn comes winter. Winter is an amazing time of the year that we used to associate with snowfalls, holidays, and, of course, gifts. In winter, most plants hibernate, and most animals also hibernate until spring. All reservoirs also freeze due to low temperatures.

Spring is the season that comes immediately after winter. Spring is a wonderful and beautiful time of the year, when, after a long stagnation in the animal world, everything wakes up, animals come out of hibernation, plants grow a new layer of foliage, and, by the way, everything around blooms and smells.

Summer is the hottest time of the year. Summer is a wonderful moment in the year when everything around bloomed after spring, and is in this state even before winter, about three to four months. Since the summer is very hot, I do not really like this time of year.

Anyway, every season is amazing in its own way and has both its pros and cons, which is why there is no reason to hate one season, and instead, love some other.

In this work, I have described my relationship to the various seasons, and gave a general definition of them. The opinion described in the essay is purely subjective and does not claim to be the only true uniqueness or fidelity.

Picture About seasons

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Seasons - a story by Mikhail Prishvin, read online

Many admire nature, but few take it to heart, and even those who take it to heart do not often manage to get along with nature in such a way as to feel their own soul in it.

January

Yesterday was a sunny day. The spring of light has begun on the road. The sunbeam warmed, warmed the road, a car passed, and the track shone. Another leg creaked in the snow, another stick squealed on the move, but the ground on the rut was bald, and then the leg, shod in felt boots, slipped.
So the spring of light began on the road.

February

There is a thaw before the last Sretensky frosts, birds take it for the beginning of spring: hazel grouses whistle and begin pre-spring searches for a pair.
The black grouse flows with all his might and in such a way that a person, having heard this, is also involved in deceit, and if he is still young and has time, God knows what he mutters.

Invisible snow stars now descended from above, near us in the air they shine with a calm rain of sparks, and remain on the knots of trees, and from this the tree sparkles everything from top to bottom with every branch, every unopened winter bud.

The spring of light has begun, blue eyes have opened in the forest from all sides. Snowflakes quietly fly, and it’s good to follow each one where it sits. And when you see enough, you ask yourself: why are all the figures created by falling snowflakes rounded?

Is it not because every branch tends upwards and every snowflake falls downwards that every movement in the struggle for top and bottom forms a movement in a circle?
Only now the snowflake is falling, and although the knot tends to rise, it is slowly, and in winter it only points upward, while it itself stands motionless.
Here at least this quarterly pillar, evenly sawn off in a circle from above, and on an even circle falling snowflakes form a round cap.

Today is a sunny and frosty day. When the sun sets behind a cloud, frost writes sprigs of tropical plants and algae of warm seas on the glass. When the sun reappears, frost abandons its impossible dream of the tropics, cries and scatters across the glass in drops.

This play of the sun with frost ended when all the clouds fled from the sky and the sun's rays not only dried all the drops on the glass, but even heated the glass. The frost had nothing to take on the glass, and when the sun went down and it became dark.
Then a guest came to us and, looking through the clean glass from the sixth floor at the gray boxes of houses, said:

— What a view!

March

I notice that spring in the souls of modern people began to come earlier than in ancient times, when life was calmer.
Then in February, no one in the city spoke about spring, but now you hear from all sides: spring!

Sunny days, blue matinees, and timid streams in the evening, and night and morning are over dry roofs.

The huge house ended on the street with an unfinished brick wall, there were stoves here and there: some were made for some reason when laying the wall, others were made by themselves after the bricks fell out. Now, in each of these stoves, a sparrow, invisible to passers-by, sat and chirped in a springtime measured, non-stop, like a clock.
But these sparrows, jubilant in the dark stoves, were indeed miraculous hours of the spring of light. Some of the passers-by took out their watches, looked at them, and increased their pace. But others, on the contrary, hearing these spring hours, stopped, wandered for a long time with a smile along the wall, peered, and, finally, opening the sparrow, brightened their faces and, looking around, rejoiced at the blue twilight of the street under the sunny roof.

Warm and overcast. Then blue gaps, wider and wider, and along the blue, in gray sails, scraps, haze, and all sorts of remnants of a torn night blanket passed like boats.

I see rooks everywhere in the snow, and, apparently, they are hungry, there is nothing to take, everything is covered with snow, they walk vainly on long legs, they let them close, they don’t fly, but run, run. In the evening, from their nesting places, gray is already heard.

Frosty night, shining day. Yesterday the river darkened and separated from the snow, but people still walk on this ice. The fields began to ripple thawed patches, variegation, the "kingdom of magpies."

April

Not the first rook you see in the spring, the most important thing, not a starling, but the main thing is that your foot should meet the ground: as soon as you set your foot on the place where the earth appeared, immediately you will feel everything, and all the springs that you had before will unite, and you will rejoice.

Ravens are furious, sparrows try to sing, but the days do not end, day after day they look like in a mirror. There is no better, no cleaner and more beautiful these days, but spring and the soul require movement.
So far, movement is only in the field, in the "magpie kingdom" there is more and more black feather, but in the forest everything is unchanged.

I don't want to forget yesterday's wonderful day. On the eve there was a flood coup, after dinner everything boiled. And in the morning everything was saturated with vapors, and through this our earthly vapor from above the sun rejoiced with a hint and affirmed our joy in our quivering migratory soul.

I crossed the edge of the stream to my favorite edge and immediately noticed that the ants had crawled up. True, it was not the same in all anthills: there were such anthills, where all the ants were already lying on a red black solid cake, on others black spots were just beginning to get out, on still others there were still separate scouts here and there.

The arable land is thawing, it would be impossible to pass through the field, but, fortunately, the ice-shard keeps on the path, crunches, and the leg does not fall through.

It was raining at night: a whole tub was pouring down. The sun will appear in the clouds, then hide. The river, clogged with warped ice, stands still. The air is heavy and damp. The field has been completely cleared.
There is still plenty of snow in the forests. The garden below begins to turn black, and towards the forest it is white.
In the morning the earth soared, and the low sky with its mist caught the breath of the earth. And the place where the sun was in the sky was noticeable. The river has cleared. Vanya brought fresh fish.

The snow bent the aspen to the very ground, the bunnies ate it all over the winter. So she hasn't gotten up in the spring yet.

Today the north wind did not come, and that is why the sun warmed us much more. The thrushes sang. Butterflies are resurrected. Once the thrush has begun to sing, there should have been woodcocks, but there is still no movement of sap in the birch.

"They're all here," the grandfather would say, "and they don't even show up."

Yesterday Kado and I walked luxuriously in the forests, and the path was like in a lake district, from lake to lake, from thaw to thaw.

In the early morning frost still remained on the ground, but when the sun warmed the ground, the frost covered with dew.

A butterfly awakened under a hot ray. Gray, the color of an aspen trunk, the butterfly lay in a small triangle on the grass and beat like a worm, but the wings did not obey. I took it in the palm of my hand and examined it: the butterfly had a head like that of an owl with two long orange antennae - a night butterfly. She lay in the palm of her hand, as if dead, but when I threw her up, she flew away, and how!

How many of us, too, people, have such sleepers, and you push - where will it come from!

Judging by a person, this April spring day is similar to that human day when she says her “yes”. In nature, too, so: "yes!" - and after that it starts to turn green again.

A day in nature is like a person's: full of tremendous strength, capable of turning the earth over if one could grab onto something.
The timid, trembling boy asked something. She made no answer, but only bowed her head low. He asked again and more tremulously, and she bowed her head still lower. And when, finally, overcoming himself, he put his hands on her shoulders, leaned over to her and whispered something for the third time, she lifted her burning face and threw herself on his neck.
At that moment, April was already turning green, and such was our day today: she threw herself on someone’s neck, and it was her “yes”. Today, all nature answered us “yes!” - and everything began to turn green everywhere.

It is not surprising that I understand nature so personally, as if through myself: I have experienced so much, so it was with me myself. I am only surprised that if I say this, then I will be understood by those with whom this was not the case.

And now, it turns out, it’s not just me that matters, but that the whole world stands and moves on this something, and the whole person, as a single being, triumphs, and I can testify to this, as a surprised and delighted participant in the April of the day and his bride - dressed with flowers in an undressed forest of early willow.

On that southern bank of the river, a little noticeably greener, and this greenery even reflected a little at the edge of the blue river.

Steam from the ground fills the air with a healthy blush, and that's why the coniferous green forest beyond the river turned blue. This significant vapor among the people, from childhood I hear, is called the soaring of the earth.

What a wonderful word that answers both admiration, and rebirth, and resurrection, and exclamation, and every spring delight and joy. But why does this popular word somehow still not have a legal entry into literature? Is it possible to start our human spring this year with the fact that, together with a whole great system of approved words of the Russian language about spring joy, we will affirm, legitimize this our soaring of the earth?

In the morning this warm vapor, like fresh milk, returned in drops, so warm, so rare that one drop falls on you and does not wait for another: until another comes, it rises. And an hour, and two, and three pass in one shirt - and you will return home dry.
The tractor started up and I easily found it in the dull yellow lanes across the river. Rooks flocked to the tractor in exactly the same way as in the old days flocked to the plow. Only before they were in no hurry and walked, waddling importantly, following the plow. It even seems to me that in the old days they were even a little indulgent towards the plowman. Now the tractor is coming soon, and there are many more worms from under it than there were from under the plow. The rooks need to hurry very, very much so that the worms do not hide: the rooks do not follow the tractor, but fly up.

The rooks have lost their importance, but the plowman no longer weaves in the furrow, does not swear every minute at the horse, but sits and, perhaps, even sings.

Today the day has flared up and reached +20. This is the first day when the earth and the sun met without interference.

By the evening it began to chuckle. The sun has sunk into a warm cloud. I met the first bumblebee on the traction, and there was such silence that it buzzed throughout the clearing. The first anemones and purple flowers began to emerge. The buds of bird cherry and lilac pricked up. The puddles began to grow into strong green and friendly grass. The roadsides turned green, and the greens became bright. At night, a warm dewy rain fell and drizzled until morning.
After dinner, he frowned, surrounded himself with a circle. The rain washes the kidneys.

May

Not very hot, marvelous May days, lindens turn green on Gorky Street, twigs of something turn green near every shack in the alleys, and each twig corresponds somewhere similar to a flash in the human soul.

The air is saturated with warm vapor, and the sky is closed, and only in the east, through the double-triple curtains, a bright blue window has broken through. Everything in our house and around it, as it is said about the sixth day of creation, that the Creator looked around him and said:
- Well done I, everything is fine!

Inhaling the aroma of flowers, bark, last year's leaves, you always get excited about something close to a memory. But it happens that among these fragrances there will be something that directly requires you to remember how when you meet someone you know well in a being, but you can’t call him by name and decide on a relationship with him.
All these memorable fragrances are connected with childhood: something happened there at the first meeting with such a fragrance. So, perhaps our entire consciousness has grown out of this childish material, remaining from the time when it lived unconsciously?
All that I know, all this was with everyone, the only new thing is that I am aware of the former and open it to the consciousness of everyone.

A bright beam fell into a dark forest and discovered that it was at night that a spider from the young upper leaves from the top of a small mountain ash extended a sparkling path to the young oak.
Such a sun, such rays pierced even the dense dark green of the fir trees, and there, in the density, shone like a mirror, the stump of a cut birch, wet with juice.

Day after day there is a thunderstorm, rain, heat, shine, grasses grow, flowers appear, and already lily of the valley in the forest and lilacs in the garden.

In the forest, among the "eternal" greenery of low blueberry bushes, a pale blue violet has found its place.

I look at the forest path, admire how the green brush of grass hides old leaves and encloses them like fertilizer.

And so in myself, in my soul, as in a vessel, joy rises like wine, and this wine of mine is poured all over the person, hiding all evil in itself.

There are beings who are capable of looking so directly and truly and openly and radiantly that they themselves become like the sun. How many such light-loving plants with a flower-sun are.
But there are dreamer flowers, they, of course, feel the sun, but never see it, and the shape of their flowers is the result of the relationship of light and shadow. Look at the lily of the valley…

Butterfly with butterfly will meet, recognize each other and fly, circling, one near the other over the flowers, and higher and higher and higher, until they reach the space above the forests and the wind will not carry them together no one knows where. But such encounters are so rare! More and more somehow the forest creatures do not recognize each other: how many branches of strangers nod to each other, wave all day long, as a birch whips a young Christmas tree with its branches.

It’s the same with us, when we are walking through the forest, searching and silently waiting and waiting for our soul to meet…

June

ROOKS to feed themselves, but still no experience. And quite large rooks, only their noses are not white, but black, and they sit well-hidden in the depths of the Christmas tree, and their parents carry food to them all day. The hardest time for parents!

LUNCH AND JUNIPER

Through the juniper, clumsy and untidy, a luxurious beauty lungwort sprouted and blossomed in the light. One would think that it was the juniper itself that blossomed!
Some passers-by thought so, were very surprised, said: “It happens like this: so untidy, so clumsy, and in flowers he is the best at this time. It happens like that!”
"It happens, it happens!" - the bumblebees on the lungwort answered in basses. The juniper itself, of course, was silent.

BEFORE THE RAIN

There is such silence in the forest just before the rain, such tension in anticipation of the first drops of rain! Each leaf, each needle is shown as the only one of its kind. You look and you know: there is no such other leaf, there is no such other needle, and at the same time they, the only ones, do the same as everyone else.

Hare cabbage, small grass, to show off better, even climbed a stump!
So I also go in to them, and it seems to me that all of them, in their expression, like people, turned their faces to me and asked for rain.
Like it's up to me!

“Come on, old man,” I said to the rain, “it will torment us, start!”
Either the rain obeyed, or, as they say, everything came together like that: the rain started.

HIGH BLUE

The kite gained altitude, flapping its wings like any bird, and, having gained it, began to soar and reign there, in the blue of the height.

July

WHITE MUSHROOM

It happens that you get excited about big white mushrooms, and it seems that there is a giant somewhere far away, like a stump. Here is such a huge glisten in the dew, which is unbelievable. Not! Rather, on the contrary, you believe too much, but you are only afraid of being deceived, and you insure yourself, and you say to yourself:
- Yes, it's not a mushroom, it's just a stump!

“My dear,” says a sly voice, “if you are sure that this is a stump, then why should you go in that direction?”

— Is it far to go, — you answer him. “I still need to go there.

So you go there and no longer look around at the russula, you even try to forget it completely. But here, you see, there is a catch with mushrooms: a mushroom appeared, but for some reason it was distracted to the side, looked from there - and there is nothing! And it also happens that it disappears completely - you search, you search, you walk around, trample the grass, move the bushes, ferns - no and no.

"Look, he'll leave!" whispers a sly voice.

“Let him go,” you answer the evil one. - I go for mushrooms, not for stumps. - And chick! knife russula pink on a white leg.

“Come on,” says the evil one, “do not be cowardly, make up your mind and stop: face the truth.”

- That's it! - you answer the evil one, - you would have said so long ago. — And you raise your eyes...

No matter how much you look for something in life in vain, you wait so much, and it doesn't turn out to be what you want. But when you go to the forest for mushrooms, you find exactly what you wanted, and if you find a white mushroom, then it is always better than what you imagined, and with greedy eyes you stare into it, trying to drink the charm out of it forever, and you won’t drink it. : the new mushroom next time is again as if it had never been seen.

MOTHER'S VOICES

The mother thrush chirped, the nightingale mother squealed plaintively, the capercaillie mother ko-ko-kala.

LINDEN FLOWERS

Lindens are in bloom and smell of lime honey. Between the lindens in a ray of the sun, that golden fly, familiar from childhood, stands in the air on its wings. If you find it, you pass, you look back - it stands in the air in the same place.

So this question remains unanswered, and the fly is forgotten. But now I remembered again, and the answer came to my mind like this: all the wingless want to fly, and whoever has wings, then, probably, on a holiday, when the lindens are in bloom, it’s good to stand up.

MUSIC

The solemn day came out of the dense fog full of silence and the brilliance of leaves irrigated with fog - the summer fullness of nature.

This radiant morning in the dark forest there was a great silence, I felt it, deepened into myself, and when I looked out of myself, I saw that in the radiance between the trees, bright drops of night rain were falling down from the branches and the wings of ferns were trembling from the drops below.

Thus, in silence one deepens and sees everything out of oneself, as through a window, and completely free. And when the wind is always not itself, but someone whispers to me, slanders, trumpets, howls. And if you didn’t know that it’s all the wind doing, then you would think that it wasn’t me here, but someone else came.

But it happens that a very quiet wind inaudibly plays with the leaves and branches of trees. Then it seems to me that I am deaf and do not hear the music from the touch of an invisible creature on the leaves. At this time, I look at the vibrations of leaves and branches and guess about the music. More! - it seems to me then that we, too, are like leaves: we tremble, and beat, and tear, deaf, without understanding the music emanating from us.

AFTER THE STORM

Morning, like happiness, has come.

After a thunderstorm and rain, all the paths in the forest, accessible to the sun's rays, smoked.
Even in the dark spruce forest, the rays, breaking through the canopy in slanting pillars, fell into the forest, and there in these pillars a tree, dressed up, as for the New Year, was shown, sparkling with lights of all colors.

FLYING FLOWERS

White butterflies always fly over blooming potatoes, as if some flowers have blossomed enough, they want to fly, and now these are not butterflies, but also flowers fly over potato flowers.

August

LATE SUMMER

Swallows, young and old, circle in herds above the water, and the bravest of them delay their flight for a moment, touch the water and leave a circle on it.
I sat by the river and entered the silence.

URSA MAJOR

It was probably cool at night, and the windows were sweaty, and the stars, if you look through the fogged glass, swelled up. And just opposite my window, the Big Dipper was located. I don’t know how this is explained, but for some reason you begin to notice the Big Dipper in the fall.

AUTUMN

We started heating the stoves a little during the day. Today, through the misted windows in the morning, the bright sun shines, and the solid dew glistens not with diamond drops, but directly with the whole burdock or the whole bed of beets.

In the sky in the morning there are white, curly-haired lambs on a blue field, and they promise on the radio that this day will pass without rain. How many dry days must pass so that the consumer of nature does not scold nature for a rainy summer?

September

LAST HEAT

Quiet, and the blue hung between the still green trees. Through the fog and clouds, the sun slowly makes its way in the morning.

It was cold at night, and, perhaps, in the swamps at sunrise, on the northern side invisible to the sun, the hummocks turned white.

In the evening the moon rose like fire from behind the trees. Sunny morning, flooded with dew in dense blue shadows.

EARTH AND SKY

Either rain or sun will make you happy: there are a hundred changes in a day.
When everything that is dressed flares up in the sun, then a small pine tree, all adorned with shiny drops, stands like a girl, and only does not say: “I am also big!”
In such a big day with such frequent changes, there is a moment of complete calm: it seems that everything has been going, going up the mountain and now it has come: I will rest for a minute and I will go down to the valley.

This is how autumn begins.

NETTLE

The linden undergrowth has turned yellow, and under it there is already a carpet of yellow leaves, and the forest smells of gingerbread.
The leaves of the strawberry are blood-colored. Nettle stands taller than human height, turned black, the leaf was crushed and in holes, old-old ... I wanted to regret it, touched it, but she, so old, still bites like a young one!

MERRY SHADOW

At dawn the fog thickened, and drops fell on birch leaves, and leaves with drops, becoming heavier, broke off and fell to the ground.

When the sun rose and the fog dissipated, the drops stopped falling and the morning light wind-amusing began to play with aspen leaves, and their shadows jumped and jumped from the leaves on the gray trunk of the aspen.

From time to time a leaf would tear off and fly away, and its merry shadow would disappear with it.

October

POWER OF LIFE

Everything collapses, everything falls, but nothing dies, and even if it dies, it immediately passes into something else. Here is a stump, rotting, dressed in ivy of green moss. In the bosom of an old stump, densely dressed with green ivy, a handsome fly agaric has grown.
Among the familiar forest you get lost, as if all the trees and bushes have thrown off their common green mask and each tree has become special. And when he himself raised his head and looked at them, they also looked at you, each in his own way.

THE LAST MUSHROOMS

The wind scattered, the linden sighed and seemed to exhale a million golden leaves from itself. The wind still scattered, rushed with all its might - and then all the leaves flew off at once, and remained on the old linden, on its black branches only rare gold coins.
So the wind played with the linden, crept up to the cloud, blew, and the cloud splashed and immediately dispersed into rain.

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

Red leaves were covered with mushrooms, but I found a few mushrooms, boletus, and boletus.
These were the last mushrooms.

MORNING

A damp, foggy morning, like a heavily sleeping person: he does not wake up soon, he hears, but he does not want to open his eyes.

The fog thickens, and the drops settle on the yellow leaves: a drop rolls onto another leaf - there will be two there, they fall, and the leaf cannot stand it, falls along with the drops.
Leaf after leaf falls from the linden onto the roof, which leaf flies like a parachute, which moth, which cog. And meanwhile, little by little, the day opens its eyes, and the wind lifts all the leaves from the roof, and they fly to the river somewhere along with migratory birds.
Here you stand on the shore, alone, put your hand to your heart and fly somewhere with your soul, along with the birds and leaves.

And sometimes it's sad, and it's so good, and you whisper softly:
- Fly, fly!

It takes so long for the day to wake up that when the sun comes out, we already have dinner. We rejoice at a good warm day, but we are no longer waiting for the flying cobweb of Indian summer: everyone has scattered, and the cranes are about to fly, and there the geese, rooks - and it will all be over.

IMAGE OF THE WORLD

Quiet. Direct smoke rises between the trees in a blue pillar. Since the morning, mosquitoes have been pushing poppies. Warm, light, and so beautiful, calm and smart, as it does not happen in spring.
And the sparrows that live above the window under the architraves behave briskly in the spring, and one even had fluff in its nose for a nest. They found a place for themselves: they feel good, and they don’t interfere with us!

Yes, this is exactly such a morning today, as if every creature on earth has found its place, and no one interferes with anyone: this is the true image of world peace.

FUTURE

The leaves have fallen from the trees, but the buds of the future leaves of the future life have been determined, and on each bud a large bright drop sparkles.

A FEELING OF FREEDOM

I have long noticed that when the breeze penetrating the forest shakes the branches of trees, there is a special deep charm in this. I have been looking for a way to portray this for a long time. Maybe combine it with leaf fall? I will watch.

The coins of autumn are so frozen or dried up that you can hear them knocking against each other in trembling.
Fluttering leaves beat against each other, trying to break away and fly away. But when they break away, they fall, turning the whole mass of foliage into fertilizer. So leaves, and there are many people like that, but a real person in a sense of freedom takes wings and moves forward and forward.

November

SNOW MAIDEN IN THE FOREST

Yesterday I saw a Snow Maiden in the forest: one of her earrings is made of a golden leaf, and the other is still green.

WITHOUT A GUN

Again I saw a hazel grouse running close in the forest, and this should be noted: in late autumn, when the leaf fell off and the ground froze, hazel grouses are very noticeable and let them come close. Today, too, the squirrel flirted with me. And I also saw a lot of tits all together: large, small, grenadiers, Gadgets.

It's good that I don't have a gun! It seems to me that in the end you can achieve this silence in yourself, and each point in the forest will be the beginning of such a life that you will not have time to write everything down.

The tit was knocking something out of the baluster of the porch with its beak upside down, two sparrows, who constantly live behind the window casing, noticed this, flew in, drove the tit away, examined everything themselves, found nothing and returned to the window.

FOREST MIRROR

In a forest puddle on the road, colder water particles rose to the surface when cooling, and the frost made a white film out of them and patterned some unknown tropical flowers on it.

Do you understand why frost has flowers? And judging by itself, everything is clear: frost dreamed of a distant tropical country, and while he was busy with patterns, warm water ran underground.

A thin, white, crisp film with patterns of tropical algae remained from the entire puddle.
There is a late autumn, when the wind will blow the leaves of birches and aspens that have fallen on them even from the fir trees. But there is an even later autumn, when the forks of pine needles sitting astride the knots will remain on the trees. Even the wind will not blow them away, and only in the spring, when the snow will slide from the branches, will it take the pine forks with it.

THE RIVER IS FREEZING

Yesterday the day passed like a full sun, and in the evening it met with a full moon. Women went down for water and repeated to each other: "Our river is freezing."
In the morning, ice sparks, flashing, formed into thin pieces of ice, and lard flowed, as if into an ice drift, along the river.

Earth and water no longer believe in the promises of the sun, and even on the brightest full-sunny day in the shade and on the northern slopes, white spots of snow do not pass, and - just think! - at some degree of heat and in bright rays, thin transparent ice floes float along the river without ceasing, which then form ice. Somewhere a man in boots is walking, and the frozen dry earth rumbles under his boots.
The earth freezes!

And at the bridge, all the spans were clogged with ice fat, except for one on the other side of the river, and all the fat is rushing there - into the only one.

The river is freezing!

POWDER

Light frost, in the morning fine snow-powder is falling on yesterday's grits, attentive to any relief.
It was getting dark, and it seemed as if a white hare had come out of the forest and stood. But it was not a hare, but something motionless, although the more we look, the more obviously it changes. But it was still not it that moved, but the human heart pushed the body ...

THOUGHTS-BIRDS

As soon as you enter the forest, intricate thoughts, like flocks of birds, take off from their place, and everything turns into movement, and you yourself begin to clearly understand that everything is from yourself, and before that from yourself, that and trees want to be raised along with the thought birds.
But the trees do not rise, the trees stand, and in themselves: here is this spruce, here is a pine, here is a birch. The trees, no doubt, are standing, and this is precisely the beauty of the forest, that you yourself rise and rush with your thoughts, merging into green noise, and the trees stand.

AUTUMN ZORI

Morning dawn and evening dawn, yellow, like a ripe antonovka.
By evening, the yellow sky of these days was very reddened, and in connection with this it began to warm up.
The yellow-ruddy dawn was emphasized by a dull blue stripe, behind which the sun was hidden.
The earth is frozen and slightly powdered along the northern slopes. I drink calm tea in the dark. The sun comes out like a golden bird with red wings, crimson lambs above it.

FOREST BELL TOWER

The night snow had weighed down the branches of the trees, and now the snow was slowly dispersing through the branches in drops, and they were gradually rising. When it began to get colder in the evening, the frost had, of course, frozen all the drops before, and from under the snow on the branches they still ran out, a living drop on a frozen one, and then they all froze themselves, lengthening the icicles. Frost stopped the melting snow when the whole tree had time to be covered with small sonorous icicles.
In the morning, the forest glade began to fill with light, in the rays of the sun the Christmas trees sparkled with wonderful gifts, and the bell-ringing wind began to play on its forest bell tower.

SIGNS OF WINTER

The day is cloudy, but the frost is not afraid and lasts during the day, and still grows in the evening. And this is the surest sign of winter: frost and clouds create favorable conditions for a new snowfall, and after all, two or three more such powders as the first, and the end, everything will be littered and will not melt, and all our hunts with hounds will end. .
It looks so much like March that I have been looking for some signs in the forest for a long time, so that a person who would wake up after many years of sleeping, decide on the season. And then, finally, on a clearing littered with snow, I saw - a web descended from one tree, and at the end there was a ball. "Isn't the spider frozen?" I thought about the ball. I took it apart and examined it: it was because of the big fog that week that the droplets gathered and froze, and when it started to snow, several tiny hexagonal snowflakes stuck around the frozen droplet, and it turned into a ball.
So November was decided, not March: in March there are no traces of cobwebs.

December

LIVE DROPS

Yesterday it was snowing great. And it melted a little, but yesterday's large drops froze, and today it's not cold, but it's not melting either, and the drops hang as if alive, they shine, and the sky is gray in weight - it's about to fly ...

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

SPRING OF SHADOWS

Solstice. Composer N. congratulated me on the "spring of light." There is no doubt that this is how it will go from me for a long time: the spring of light.

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