Spring has come. The sun began to get hotter, the streams began to gurgle, the forest began to awaken after its winter sleep. At such a time, you usually want spring to come as soon as possible, so that the buds on the trees bloom faster, the first flowers appear from under the snow, and the birds fly in. And as usually happens, when you really expect something, it never comes.
The hare loved spring. He was looking forward to his garden being free of snow, but this year there was so much snow in the winter that it seemed that it would not melt until summer. All day long the Hare wandered through the forest, watched how spring drove away winter, tried to guess how large streams would flow, and visited old friends.
One day he went to see his friend, Hedgehog.
“Hello, Hare,” the Hedgehog greeted, “I’m glad you came.” And I’m just doing spring cleaning. Can you help me move the bed?
“Of course,” nodded the Hare, “at least some kind of activity.”
- Are you bored or what? – Hedgehog asked, moving the bed.
“I miss you,” the Hare sighed, “I wish spring would come soon.”
- Have you already cleaned the house? Look how much dust there is behind the bed! – The hedgehog took a rag and began to wash the floor. – If you don’t drive winter out of your house with a rag, then spring won’t come.
“Yes, these are all fairy tales,” the Hare waved his paw and sat down at the table, “especially since my house is always clean.”
- You’re great, but I can’t clean my house in winter. The mood is not right. But you are wrong about fairy tales. Of course, winter is not hiding in my room, but it is still possible to drive it away.
The hedgehog finished washing the floor and looked around.
- It seems that's it. You can go.
“Where to go,” the Hare did not understand.
“Look at spring,” explained Hedgehog, putting on galoshes.
- What are you talking about? No matter where you go, it’s still winter.
“But not everywhere,” Hedgehog smiled. – I found such an interesting place here the other day. Spring has already arrived there.
“It can’t be,” the Hare didn’t believe it.
- Maybe! Let's go and see everything for yourself.
Friends went outside. The sun was shining brightly. The melted snow glittered like huge mountains of crystal. Somewhere under the snow streams gurgled.
The hedgehog led his friend along a well-trodden path down the river.
- Well, tell me, where are we going? - The Hare couldn’t wait to figure out what the Hedgehog was up to.
“I won’t tell you,” Hedgehog smiled slyly, “otherwise there won’t be a surprise.”
For some time the friends walked in silence. It was very slippery and you constantly had to watch your step.
- Yes, I know the whole forest! What can you show me that I haven't seen?
- Let's go, let's go. There's very little left.
- And I guessed, we are going to the mouse house. Right?
- Right! – Hedgehog happily confirmed.
- What's so interesting about that?
- But look! “The hedgehog stopped and pointed his paw at a large mound.
The hare looked, and his mouth opened of its own accord in surprise: in the middle of the melting snowdrifts, a bright green spot showed off a large hummock, covered with young grass.
The thawed patch looked so unusual, so fabulous, that the hare involuntarily fell in love with it. He came closer. The thawed area was carefully cleared of snow. Old leaves and branches are collected separately in a pile. A small fence was lined with pebbles, separating the area from the stream. In addition to grass, snowdrops and some other early flowers grew in the thawed area. Little Mouse was digging up the garden with a tiny shovel. She noticed the guests and turned around.
- Hedgehog, Hare? Hello! I didn't expect to see you. Especially you, Hare.
“Hello,” greeted the Hare. – Why is it me especially?
- Don't be offended. It’s just that the Hedgehog sometimes comes in in the spring, but you’re so economical, in the spring you don’t even have a free minute.
- I? Yes, that’s what I am,” the Hare liked the Mouse’s words, “but there’s nothing else to do now, the snow hasn’t melted.”
“We came to look at your garden,” explained the Hedgehog. “You arranged everything here so beautifully.”
- Glad you liked it. We cleared everything of snow a long time ago. There was a lot of snow this year. And the grass under the snow has already begun to grow. Here we planted flowers for beauty. This is where mouse lettuce will grow. And here,” the Mouse pointed to an area on the edge of the thawed area, “a sunflower will grow here.” It will be huge, enormous, and in the summer you can hide from the heat in its shade. But we haven’t planted it yet, it’s too early.
The hare looked and never ceased to be surprised. And the Mouse kept telling and telling:
- Lettuce grows quickly. He is not afraid of frost either. So soon we will have fresh vitamins. And here there will be radishes. And here,” the Mouse pointed to a small hillock, “here we planted potatoes.”
- Potatoes? – Hedgehog was surprised. -Where did you get it?
- Found in the fall and buried near the house. We thought we’d eat it in the spring, when other supplies ran out. So she stayed. And now we want to grow it.
“Great,” Hedgehog admired, “how hardworking you are!”
And then suddenly the Hare perked up, as if he remembered something:
“Oh, why am I lounging around here,” he said in bewilderment, “I have a lot to do!” Bye!
He turned around and galloped towards the house in big leaps.
- What's wrong with him? - The Mouse was surprised.
“Nothing,” Hedgehog smiled, “you just drove winter out of his head.”
The Mouse looked thoughtfully after the Hare, and then laughed loudly.
Working with a work of art. 4th grade
Whose thawed patch? N. I. Sladkov
She saw the Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on the white snow.
My! - she shouted. - My thawed patch, since I saw it first!
There are seeds in the thawed area, spider bugs are swarming, the lemongrass butterfly is lying on its side, warming up. Magpie's eyes widened, her beak opened, and out of nowhere - Rook.
Hello, grow up, she has already appeared! In the winter I wandered around the crow dumps, and now to my thawed patch! Ugly!
Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I’ve been dreaming about it all winter.” He was in a hurry to get to her a thousand miles away! For her sake I left warm countries. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thawed patch!
Why is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - All winter in the south he basked and basked, ate and drank whatever he wanted, and when he returned, give him the thawed patch without a queue! And I was freezing all winter, rushing from the trash heap to the landfill, swallowing snow instead of water, and now, barely alive, weak, I finally spotted a thawed patch, and they took it away. You, Rook, are only dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch before it pecks at the top of the head!
The Lark flew in to hear the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
Spring, sun, clear sky, and you are quarreling. And where - on my thawed patch! Do not darken my joy of meeting her. I'm hungry for songs!
Magpie and Rook just flapped their wings.
Why is she yours? This is our thawed patch, we found it. The magpie had been waiting for her all winter, overlooking all eyes.
And I may have been in such a hurry from the south to get to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.
And I was born on it! - Lark squeaked. - If you look, you can also find the shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember how it used to be that in winter, in a foreign land, there was a native nest - and I was reluctant to sing. And now the song is bursting from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
The Lark jumped onto a hummock, narrowed his eyes, his throat trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, gurgled. Magpie and Rook opened their beaks and listened. They will never sing like that, they don’t have the same throat, all they can do is chirp and croak.
They probably listened for a long time, warming up in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled into a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out and sniffled.
Did you fall right into a thawed patch? That’s right: the ground is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Ugh! Does it smell like spring? Is it spring up there?
Spring, spring, digger! - Magpie shouted grumpily.
Knew where to please! - Rook muttered suspiciously. - Even though he’s blind...
Why do you need our thawed patch? - Lark creaked.
The Mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - he can’t see well with his eyes! - sneezed and said:
I don't need anything from you. And I don’t need your thawed patch. I’ll push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it’s bad for you. You quarrel and almost fight. And it’s also light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! It’s also like spring here...
How can you say that? - Lark was horrified. - Do you know, digger, what spring is!
I don’t know and I don’t want to know! - Mole snorted. - I don’t need any spring, my underground is the same all year round.
In the spring, thawed patches appear,” said Magpie, Lark and Rook dreamily.
And scandals begin in thawed areas,” the Mole snorted again. - And for what? A thawed patch is like a thawed patch.
Don't tell me! - Magpie jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.
Sit, walk, stretch! - Rook barked. - Dig your nose into the warm earth!
And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! - the Lark soared. - There are as many thawed patches in the field as there are larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than thawed patches 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.
Right! - said Magpie. - In the meantime, I’ll take care of the seeds and beetles...
Then the shouting and squabbling began again.
And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered across them to greet spring. Sing songs, rummage in the warm earth, kill a worm.
It's time for me too! - The mole said. And he fell into a place where there was no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where there is no one to even argue with. Where it is always dark and quiet.
(661 words)
Reflect on the questions. Mark the answers and complete the tasks.
- What were the birds arguing about? Write down your answer. _________________________
__________________________________________________________________
- Why did Soroka consider the thawed patch to be hers?
A) She saw her first.
B) She was waiting for her.
B) She lived on it.
- Why did the rook consider the thawed patch to be his?
A) He saw her first.
B) He dreamed about her all winter.
C) He saw a lot of insects.
- Why did the lark consider the thawed patch his own?
A) He saw her first.
B) He noticed a lot of spider bugs.
B) He was born here.
- What and how did the lark rejoice? Write down your answer. ______________
________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________
- Why did a mole appear in the thawed patch?
A) Rejoice at the arrival of spring.
B) Meet friends.
C) Push the earth out of the hole.
- How many larks are there in the field? Find the answer in the text and write it down.
_____________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________
- Choose the statements given in the text.
B) As many thawed patches in the field, there are as many larks in the sky.
C) In spring, birds argue.
D) In spring, the mole crawls out of the ground.
D) And it’s good to sing over thawed patches!
A) In spring, thawed patches appear.
B) In spring the snow melts.
C) Birds arrive in spring.
D) Thawed patches appear in spring.
D) Birds argue in spring.
E) All living things rejoice in spring.
- Determine the main idea of the fairy tale. Write it down. ______________________
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I have many acquaintances among wild birds. I know only one sparrow. He is all white - an albino. You can immediately tell him apart in a flock of sparrows: everyone is gray, but he is white.
I know Soroka. I distinguish this one by its impudence. In winter, it used to be that people would hang food outside the window, and she would immediately fly in and ruin everything.
But I noticed one jackdaw for her politeness.
There was a snowstorm.
In early spring there are special snowstorms - sunny ones. Snow whirlwinds swirl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses look like rocks. There is a storm at the top, snowy waterfalls flow from the roofs as if from mountains. Icicles from the wind grow in different directions, like the shaggy beard of Santa Claus.
And above the cornice, under the roof, there is a secluded place. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. My jackdaw settled in this recess. All black, only a gray collar on the neck. The jackdaw was basking in the sun and also pecking at some tasty morsel. Cubby!
If this jackdaw were me, I would not give up such a place to anyone!
And suddenly I see: another one, smaller and duller in color, flies up to my big jackdaw. Jump and jump along the ledge. Twist your tail! She sat down opposite my jackdaw and looked. The wind flutters it - it breaks its feathers, and whips it into white grain!
My jackdaw grabbed a piece of it in his beak - and walked out of the recess onto the cornice! She gave up the warm place to a stranger!
And someone else's jackdaw grabs a piece from my beak - and goes to her warm place. She pressed someone else's piece with her paw and it pecked. What a shameless one!
My jackdaw is on the ledge - under the snow, in the wind, without food. The snow whips her, the wind breaks her feathers. And she, the fool, endures it! Doesn't kick out the little one.
“Probably,” I think, “the alien jackdaw is very old, so they give way to it. Or maybe this is a well-known and respected jackdaw? Or maybe she’s small and remote – a fighter.” I didn’t understand anything then...
And recently I saw: both jackdaws - mine and someone else's - sitting side by side on an old chimney and both had twigs in their beaks.
Hey, they're building a nest together! Everyone will understand this.
And the little jackdaw is not at all old and not a fighter. And she’s no stranger now.
And my friend the big jackdaw is not a jackdaw at all, but a gal!
But still, my gal friend is very polite. This is the first time I've seen this.
Grouse notes
The black grouse are not singing in the forests yet. They're just writing notes. This is how they write notes. One flies from a birch tree into a white clearing, puffs up its neck like a rooster. And his feet mince in the snow, mince. It drags its half-bent wings, furrows the snow with its wings - it draws lines of music.
The second black grouse will fly off and follow the first one through the snow! So he will place dots with his feet on the musical lines: “Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si!”
The first one goes straight into the fray: don’t interfere with my writing! He snorts at the second one and follows his lines: “Si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do!”
He'll chase you away, raise his head up, and think. He mutters, mumbles, turns back and forth and writes down his muttering with his paws on his lines. For memory.
Fun! They walk, run, and trace the snow with their wings onto musical lines. They mutter, mutter, and compose. They compose their spring songs and write them down in the snow with their legs and wings.
But soon the black grouse will stop composing songs and start learning them. Then they will fly up into the tall birch trees - you can clearly see the notes from above! - and start singing. Everyone will sing the same way, everyone has the same notes: grooves and crosses, crosses and grooves.
They learn and unlearn everything until the snow melts. And it will do, no problem: they sing from memory. They sing during the day, they sing in the evening, but especially in the morning.
They sing great, right on cue!
Whose thawed patch?
She saw the Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on the white snow.
- My! - she shouted. - My thawed patch, since I saw it first!
There are seeds in the thawed area, spider bugs are swarming, the lemongrass butterfly is lying on its side, warming up. Magpie's eyes widened, her beak opened, and out of nowhere - Rook.
- Hello, grow up, she’s already arrived! In the winter I wandered around the crow dumps, and now to my thawed patch! Ugly!
- Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I’ve been dreaming about it all winter.” He was in a hurry to get to her a thousand miles away! For her sake I left warm countries. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thawed patch!
– Why is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - All winter in the south he warmed himself and basked, ate and drank whatever he wanted, and when he returned, give him the thawed patch without a queue! And I was freezing all winter, rushing from the trash heap to the landfill, swallowing snow instead of water, and now, barely alive, weak, I finally spotted a thawed patch, and they took it away. You, Rook, are only dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch before it pecks at the top of the head!
The Lark flew in to hear the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
- Spring, sun, clear sky, and you are quarreling. And where - on my thawed patch! Do not darken my joy of meeting her. I'm hungry for songs!
Magpie and Rook just flapped their wings.
- Why is she yours? This is our thawed patch, we found it. The magpie had been waiting for her all winter, overlooking all eyes.
And I may have been in such a hurry from the south to get to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.
- And I was born on it! - Lark squeaked. – If you look, you can also find the shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember how it used to be that in winter, in a foreign land, there was a native nest - and I was reluctant to sing. And now the song is bursting from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
The Lark jumped onto a hummock, closed his eyes, his throat trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, gurgled. Magpie and Rook opened their beaks and listened. They will never sing like that, they don’t have the same throat, all they can do is chirp and croak.
They probably listened for a long time, warming up in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled into a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out and sniffled.
- Did you fall right into a thawed patch? That’s right: the ground is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Ugh! Does it smell like spring? Is it spring up there?
- Spring, spring, digger! – Magpie shouted grumpily.
– Knew where to please! – Rook muttered suspiciously. - Even though he’s blind...
- Why do you need our thawed patch? - Lark creaked.
The Mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - he couldn’t see with his eyes! - he sneezed and said:
- I don’t need anything from you. And I don’t need your thawed patch. I’ll push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it’s bad for you. You quarrel and almost fight. And it’s also light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! It’s also like spring here...
- How can you say that? - Lark was horrified. - Do you know, digger, what spring is!
- I don’t know and I don’t want to know! – the Mole snorted. “I don’t need any spring, my underground is the same all year round.”
“Thawed patches appear in spring,” said Magpie, Lark and Rook dreamily.
“And scandals begin in thawed areas,” the Mole snorted again. - And for what? A thawed patch is like a thawed patch.
- Don't tell me! – Soroka jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.
- Sit, walk around, stretch! - Rook barked. - Rip your nose in the warm earth!
- And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! - the Lark soared. – There are as many thawed patches in the field as there are larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than thawed patches 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.
- Right! - said Magpie. - In the meantime, I’ll take care of the seeds and beetles...
Then the shouting and squabbling began again.
And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered across them to greet spring. Sing songs, rummage in the warm earth, kill a worm.
- It's time for me too! - The mole said. And he fell into a place where there was no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where there is no one to even argue with. Where it is always dark and quiet.
The birds and animals have suffered through a hard winter. Every day there is a snowstorm, every night there is frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in his den. He probably forgot that it was time for him to turn over to the other side.
There is a forest sign: as the Bear turns over on its other side, the sun will turn towards summer.
The birds and animals have run out of patience. Let's go wake up the Bear:
- Hey, Bear, it's time! Everyone is tired of winter! We miss the sun. Roll over, roll over, maybe you'll get bed sores?
The bear didn’t answer at all: he didn’t move, he didn’t move. Know he's snoring.
- Eh, I should hit him in the back of the head! - exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose he would move right away!
“No,” mumbled Elk, “you have to be respectful and respectful with him.” Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you: turn over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not sweet. We, elk, are standing in the aspen forest, like cows in a stall: we cannot take a step to the side. There's a lot of snow in the forest! It will be a disaster if the wolves get wind of us.
The bear moved his ear and grumbled through his teeth:
- What do I care about you moose! Deep snow is good for me: it’s warm and I sleep peacefully.
Here the White Partridge began to lament:
- Aren’t you ashamed, Bear? All the berries, all the bushes with buds were covered with snow - what do you want us to peck? Well, why should you turn over on the other side and hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!
And the Bear has his:
- It’s even funny! You're tired of winter, but I'm turning over from side to side! Well, what do I care about buds and berries? I have a reserve of lard under my skin.
The squirrel endured and endured, but could not bear it:
- Oh, you shaggy mattress, he’s too lazy to turn over, you see! But you would jump on the branches with ice cream, and skin your paws until they bleed, like me!.. Turn over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!
- Four five six! - the Bear taunts. - I scared you! Well - shoot off! You're preventing me from sleeping.
The animals tucked their tails, the birds hung their noses, and began to disperse. And then the Mouse suddenly stuck out of the snow and squeaked:
– They’re so big, but you’re scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, the bobtail, like that? He doesn’t understand either for good or for bad. You have to deal with him like us, like a mouse. You ask me - I’ll turn it over in an instant!
– Are you a Bear?! - the animals gasped.
- With one left paw! - the Mouse boasts.
The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear.
Runs all over it, scratches it with its claws, bites it with its teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a pig, and kicked his legs.
- Oh, I can’t! - howls. - Oh, I’ll roll over, just don’t tickle me! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!
And the steam from the den is like smoke from a chimney.
The mouse stuck out and squeaked:
– He turned over like a little darling! They would have told me a long time ago.
Well, as soon as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned to summer. Every day the sun is higher, every day spring is closer. Every day is brighter and more fun in the forest!
Forest rustles
Perch and Burbot
Where's the place under the ice? All the fish are sleepy - you are the only one, Burbot, cheerful and playful. What's the matter with you, huh?
- And the fact that for all fish in winter it’s winter, but for me, Burbot, in winter it’s summer! You perches are dozing, and we burbots are playing weddings, swording caviar, rejoicing and having fun!
- Let's go, brother perches, to Burbot's wedding! Let’s wake up our sleep, have some fun, snack on burbot caviar...
Otter and Raven
- Tell me, Raven, wise bird, why do people burn a fire in the forest?
“I didn’t expect such a question from you, Otter.” We got wet in the stream and froze, so we lit a fire. They warm themselves by the fire.
- Strange... But in winter I always warm myself in 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, wait until spring. Where else is that spring - beyond the mountains and beyond the seas...
- Not beyond the seas, Hare, spring is just around the corner, but under your feet! Dig the snow down to the ground - there are green lingonberries, mantleberries, strawberries, and dandelions. And you smell it, and you get full.
Badger and Bear
- What, Bear, are you still sleeping?
- I'm sleeping, Badger, I'm sleeping. So, brother, I got up to speed - it’s been five months without waking up. All sides have rested!
- Or maybe, Bear, it’s time for us to get up?
- It's not time. Sleep some more.
- Won’t you and I sleep through the spring from the start?
- Don't be afraid! She, brother, will wake you up.
“Will she knock on our door, sing a song, or maybe tickle our heels?” I, Misha, fear is so hard to rise!
- Wow! You'll probably jump up! She, Borya, will give you a bucket of water under your sides - I bet you won’t stay too long! Sleep while you're dry.
Magpie and Dipper
- Oooh, Olyapka, you don’t even think about swimming in the ice hole?!
- And swim and dive!
-Are you going to freeze?
- My pen is warm!
- Will you get wet?
– My pen is water-repellent!
-Will you drown?
- I can swim!
- A … A … Do you get hungry after swimming?
“That’s why I dive, to eat a water bug!”
Winter debts
The Sparrow was chirping on the dung heap - and he was jumping up and down! And the Crow croaks in his nasty voice:
- Why, Sparrow, were you happy, why were you chirping?
“The wings itch, Crow, the nose itches,” Sparrow answers. - The passion to fight is the hunt! Don’t croak here, don’t spoil my spring mood!
- But I’ll ruin it! - Crow is not far behind. - How can I ask a question?
- I scared you!
- And I’ll scare you. Did you peck crumbs in the trash bin in winter?
- Pecked.
– Did you pick up grains from the barnyard?
- I picked it up.
-Did you have lunch in the bird cafeteria near the school?
- Thanks to the guys, they fed me.
- That's it! - Crow bursts into tears. – How do you think you will pay 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, Vorona, were...
– Don’t confuse others! - Crow wheezes. - You answer for yourself. If you borrowed money, pay it back! As all decent birds do.
“The decent ones, maybe they do,” Sparrow got angry. - But are you doing this, Vorona?
- I’ll cry before anyone else! Do you hear a tractor plowing in the field? And behind him, I pick out all sorts of root beetles and root rodents from the furrow. And Magpie and Galka help me. And looking at us, other birds are also trying.
– Don’t vouch for others either! - Sparrow insists. – Others may have forgotten to think.
But Crow doesn’t let up:
- Fly over and check it out!
Sparrow flew to check. He flew into the garden - the Tit lives there in a new nest.
– Congratulations on your housewarming! - Sparrow says. – In my joy, I suppose I forgot about my debts!
- I haven’t forgotten, Sparrow, that you are! - Titmouse answers. “The guys treated me to delicious salsa in the winter, and in the fall I’ll treat them to sweet apples.” I protect the garden from codling moths and leaf-eaters.
- For what need, Sparrow, did he fly to my forest?
“Yes, they demand payment from me,” Sparrow tweets. - And you, Woodpecker, how do you pay? A?
“That’s how I try,” answers the Woodpecker. – I protect the forest from wood borers and bark beetles. I fight them tooth and nail! I even got fat...
“Look,” Sparrow thought. - I thought...
Sparrow returned to the dung heap and said to Crow:
- Yours, hag, the truth! Everyone is paying off winter debts. Am I worse than others? How can I start feeding my chicks mosquitoes, horseflies and flies! So that the bloodsuckers don't bite these guys! I'll pay back my debts in no time!
He said so and let’s jump up and chirp on the dung heap again. While there is free time. Until the sparrows in the nest hatched.
Polite jackdaw
I have many acquaintances among wild birds. I know only one sparrow. He is all white - an albino. You can immediately tell him apart in a flock of sparrows: everyone is gray, but he is white.
I know Soroka. I distinguish this one by its impudence. In winter, it used to be that people would hang food outside the window, and she would immediately fly in and ruin everything.
But I noticed one jackdaw for her politeness.
There was a snowstorm.
In early spring there are special snowstorms - sunny ones. Snow whirlwinds swirl in the air, everything sparkles and rushes! Stone houses look like rocks. There is a storm at the top, snowy waterfalls flow from the roofs as if from mountains. Icicles from the wind grow in different directions, like the shaggy beard of Santa Claus.
And above the cornice, under the roof, there is a secluded place. There, two bricks fell out of the wall. My jackdaw settled in this recess. All black, only a gray collar on the neck. The jackdaw was basking in the sun and also pecking at some tasty morsel. Cubby!
If this jackdaw were me, I would not give up such a place to anyone!
And suddenly I see: another one, smaller and duller in color, flies up to my big jackdaw. Jump and jump along the ledge. Twist your tail! She sat down opposite my jackdaw and looked. The wind flutters it - it breaks its feathers, and whips it into white grain!
My jackdaw grabbed a piece of it in his beak - and walked out of the recess onto the cornice! She gave up the warm place to a stranger!
And someone else's jackdaw grabs a piece from my beak - and goes to her warm place. She pressed someone else's piece with her paw and it pecked. What a shameless one!
My jackdaw is on the ledge - under the snow, in the wind, without food. The snow whips her, the wind breaks her feathers. And she, the fool, endures it! Doesn't kick out the little one.
“Probably,” I think, “the alien jackdaw is very old, so they give way to it. Or maybe this is a well-known and respected jackdaw? Or maybe she’s small and remote – a fighter.” I didn’t understand anything then...
And recently I saw: both jackdaws - mine and someone else's - sitting side by side on an old chimney and both had twigs in their beaks.
Hey, they're building a nest together! Everyone will understand this.
And the little jackdaw is not at all old and not a fighter. And she’s no stranger now.
And my friend the big jackdaw is not a jackdaw at all, but a gal!
But still, my gal friend is very polite. This is the first time I've seen this.
Grouse notes
The black grouse are not singing in the forests yet. They're just writing notes. This is how they write notes. One flies from a birch tree into a white clearing, puffs up its neck like a rooster. And his feet mince in the snow, mince. It drags its half-bent wings, furrows the snow with its wings - it draws lines of music.
The second black grouse will fly off and follow the first one through the snow! So he will place dots with his feet on the musical lines: “Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si!”
The first one goes straight into the fray: don’t interfere with my writing! He snorts at the second one and follows his lines: “Si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do!”
He'll chase you away, raise his head up, and think. He mutters, mumbles, turns back and forth and writes down his muttering with his paws on his lines. For memory.
Fun! They walk, run, and trace the snow with their wings onto musical lines. They mutter, mutter, and compose. They compose their spring songs and write them down in the snow with their legs and wings.
But soon the black grouse will stop composing songs and start learning them. Then they will fly up into the tall birch trees - you can clearly see the notes from above! - and start singing. Everyone will sing the same way, everyone has the same notes: grooves and crosses, crosses and grooves.
They learn and unlearn everything until the snow melts. And it will do, no problem: they sing from memory. They sing during the day, they sing in the evening, but especially in the morning.
They sing great, right on cue!
Whose thawed patch?
She saw the Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on the white snow.
- My! - she shouted. - My thawed patch, since I saw it first!
There are seeds in the thawed area, spider bugs are swarming, the lemongrass butterfly is lying on its side, warming up. Magpie's eyes widened, her beak opened, and out of nowhere - Rook.
- Hello, grow up, she’s already arrived! In the winter I wandered around the crow dumps, and now to my thawed patch! Ugly!
- Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I’ve been dreaming about it all winter.” He was in a hurry to get to her a thousand miles away! For her sake I left warm countries. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thawed patch!
– Why is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - All winter in the south he warmed himself and basked, ate and drank whatever he wanted, and when he returned, give him the thawed patch without a queue! And I was freezing all winter, rushing from the trash heap to the landfill, swallowing snow instead of water, and now, barely alive, weak, I finally spotted a thawed patch, and they took it away. You, Rook, are only dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch before it pecks at the top of the head!
The Lark flew in to hear the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
- Spring, sun, clear sky, and you are quarreling. And where - on my thawed patch! Do not darken my joy of meeting her. I'm hungry for songs!
Magpie and Rook just flapped their wings.
- Why is she yours? This is our thawed patch, we found it. The magpie had been waiting for her all winter, overlooking all eyes.
And I may have been in such a hurry from the south to get to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.
- And I was born on it! - Lark squeaked. – If you look, you can also find the shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember how it used to be that in winter, in a foreign land, there was a native nest - and I was reluctant to sing. And now the song is bursting from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
The Lark jumped onto a hummock, closed his eyes, his throat trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, gurgled. Magpie and Rook opened their beaks and listened. They will never sing like that, they don’t have the same throat, all they can do is chirp and croak.
They probably listened for a long time, warming up in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled into a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out and sniffled.
- Did you fall right into a thawed patch? That’s right: the ground is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Ugh! Does it smell like spring? Is it spring up there?
- Spring, spring, digger! – Magpie shouted grumpily.
– Knew where to please! – Rook muttered suspiciously. - Even though he’s blind...
- Why do you need our thawed patch? - Lark creaked.
The Mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - he couldn’t see with his eyes! - he sneezed and said:
- I don’t need anything from you. And I don’t need your thawed patch. I’ll push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it’s bad for you. You quarrel and almost fight. And it’s also light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! It’s also like spring here...
- How can you say that? - Lark was horrified. - Do you know, digger, what spring is!
- I don’t know and I don’t want to know! – the Mole snorted. “I don’t need any spring, my underground is the same all year round.”
“Thawed patches appear in spring,” said Magpie, Lark and Rook dreamily.
“And scandals begin in thawed areas,” the Mole snorted again. - And for what? A thawed patch is like a thawed patch.
- Don't tell me! – Soroka jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.
- Sit, walk around, stretch! - Rook barked. - Rip your nose in the warm earth!
- And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! - the Lark soared. – There are as many thawed patches in the field as there are larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than thawed patches 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.
- Right! - said Magpie. - In the meantime, I’ll take care of the seeds and beetles...
Then the shouting and squabbling began again.
And while they were shouting and quarreling, new thawed patches appeared in the field. Birds scattered across them to greet spring. Sing songs, rummage in the warm earth, kill a worm.
- It's time for me too! - The mole said. And he fell into a place where there was no spring, no thawed patches, no sun and no moon, no wind and no rain. And where there is no one to even argue with. Where it is always dark and quiet.
Whose thawed patch? (read with illustrations)
Nikolay Sladkov
Whose thawed patch?
She saw the Forty-first thawed patch - a dark speck on the white snow.
My! - she shouted. - My thawed patch, since I saw it first!
There are seeds in the thawed area, spider bugs are swarming, the lemongrass butterfly is lying on its side, warming up. Magpie's eyes widened, her beak opened, and out of nowhere - Rook.
Hello, grow up, she has already appeared! In the winter I wandered around the crow dumps, and now to my thawed patch! Ugly!
Why is she yours? - Magpie chirped. - I saw it first!
“You saw it,” Rook barked, “and I’ve been dreaming about it all winter.” He was in a hurry to get to her a thousand miles away! For her sake I left warm countries. Without her, I wouldn't be here. Where there are thawed patches, there we are, rooks. My thawed patch!
Why is he croaking here! - Magpie rumbled. - All winter in the south he basked and basked, ate and drank whatever he wanted, and when he returned, give him the thawed patch without a queue! And I was freezing all winter, rushing from the trash heap to the landfill, swallowing snow instead of water, and now, barely alive, weak, I finally spotted a thawed patch, and they took it away. You, Rook, are only dark in appearance, but you are on your own mind. Shoo from the thawed patch before it pecks at the top of the head!
The Lark flew in to hear the noise, looked around, listened and chirped:
Spring, sun, clear sky, and you are quarreling. And where - on my thawed patch! Do not darken my joy of meeting her. I'm hungry for songs!
Magpie and Rook just flapped their wings.
Why is she yours? This is our thawed patch, we found it. The magpie had been waiting for her all winter, overlooking all eyes.
And I may have been in such a hurry from the south to get to her that I almost dislocated my wings on the way.
And I was born on it! - Lark squeaked. - If you look, you can also find the shells from the egg from which I hatched! I remember how it used to be that in winter, in a foreign land, there was a native nest - and I was reluctant to sing. And now the song is bursting from the beak - even the tongue is trembling.
The Lark jumped onto a hummock, narrowed his eyes, his throat trembled - and the song flowed like a spring stream: it rang, gurgled, gurgled. Magpie and Rook opened their beaks and listened. They will never sing like that, they don’t have the same throat, all they can do is chirp and croak.
They probably listened for a long time, warming up in the spring sun, but suddenly the earth trembled under their feet, swelled into a tubercle and crumbled.
And the Mole looked out and sniffled.
Did you fall right into a thawed patch? That’s right: the ground is soft, warm, there is no snow. And it smells... Ugh! Does it smell like spring? Is it spring up there?
Spring, spring, digger! - Magpie shouted grumpily.
Knew where to please! - Rook muttered suspiciously. - Even though he’s blind...
Why do you need our thawed patch? - Lark creaked.
The Mole sniffed at the Rook, at the Magpie, at the Lark - he can’t see well with his eyes! - sneezed and said:
I don't need anything from you. And I don’t need your thawed patch. I’ll push the earth out of the hole and back. Because I feel: it’s bad for you. You quarrel and almost fight. And it’s also light, dry, and the air is fresh. Not like my dungeon: dark, damp, musty. Grace! It’s also like spring here...
How can you say that? - Lark was horrified. - Do you know, digger, what spring is!
I don’t know and I don’t want to know! - Mole snorted. - I don’t need any spring, my underground is the same all year round.
In the spring, thawed patches appear,” said Magpie, Lark and Rook dreamily.
And scandals begin in thawed areas,” the Mole snorted again. - And for what? A thawed patch is like a thawed patch.
Don't tell me! - Magpie jumped up. - And the seeds? And the beetles? Are the sprouts green? All winter without vitamins.
Sit, walk, stretch! - Rook barked. - Dig your nose into the warm earth!
And it’s good to sing over thawed patches! - the Lark soared. - There are as many thawed patches in the field as there are larks. And everyone sings! There is nothing better than thawed patches in spring.
