My adversary for the plan. Tvir on the theme "Yaskravi feudal lita
"Good luck!" Short rospe about lito
Good luck! The golden promenade of the sun generously floats to the ground. Blakitnoy line tikє in the distance of the river. The fox stands at the svyatkovy, the lithuanian one. Quests - lilovs, zhovtі, blakytni razbrelya on galyavinka, knots.
Lіtnioi porri are trawling with all the diva. Varto lis in green vbrannі, underfoot - a green grass-ant, sucіlno hardened with dew. Ale scho tse? Still, there wasn’t anything on the Galyavin, but this year it’s really busy with small, red, dumb, expensive, stones. Tse yagіdka is a sunflower. Isn't it a miracle?
Pikhka, radio with savory food, їzhak. Їzhak is the universal wine. Glorious days have come for the new one. That is for those creatures also. Radio is all alive. Ptahs are gladly flooded, stench at once in their father's land, I do not need to sleep in the distant, virii, the stench of warm, sleepy days.
Lito to love children and grown-ups. For dovgі, sleepy days and short warm nights. For a rich harvest summer garden... For generous fields, crops, wheat.
All live vlіtku spivay and celebration.
« Lіtnіy ranok". Short report about lito
Leto is time, if nature is too early. Lіtnіy ranok - divovizne. It is high in the sky to drink light hmark, whiter is purer and fresher, the wine is not like the smell of herbs. Lisova rychka throws a serpentine into the fog. Mysternally, the golden glimmer of the sun is wading through the leaves more and more, the wine is visibly lis. Winking grandmother, changing from the point to the point, respectfully marvel, there is no noise.
Kindly wander along the river fox. Among the trees there are all - pines. If it may not be small, even pull your top so high until you can not smell the stench. M'yako stupaєsh on emerald moss. What is there only in foxes: mushroom-berries, mosquito-conics, gori-uzgir'ya. lіtnіy lіs- the whole complex of nature.
And the axis і persha zustrіch is a great, prickly hedgehog. Having killed the people, it was to get involved, varto on the Most, hummingly thinking, where did you go to collapse?
"Lіtnіy vechіr". A short message about lito
Lіtnіy day to heal until evening. The sky is steadily dark, growing colder. To be built, so that the boards can spill at once, the weather is a little nasty - a sweetness for the summer season. At the fox, everything is quieter, but the sounds do not disappear. Deyakі creatures fall in love at night, the darkest hour finish for them the most pleasant hour. Zir they rozvinenne nasty, but a visual sense of smell and hearing. Such creatures are referred to, for example, їzhak. Inodі can be almost like a hawk.
Nightingale at night. On the day there is also a solo party, but the middle of a lot of voices seems to be quite smooth. Іnsha to the right at night. Htos sp_vaє, htos stogne. Ale in general, lis headmaster. Nature accepts, and all the familiarity will come to the wound.
Suggestions for children about summer, nature and food.
my Russia
For three years, I have become attached to the Middle Russia with all my heart. I don’t know the land, but Volodya with such a majestic lyrical strength and such a scandalous malovnichiy - with his own money, calm and spaciousness, like the middle swarth of Russia. The magnitude of the love of love is important. Leather knows by itself. Love the skin of a blade of grass, shilling from the dew chi zigrita with a sun, a skin mug of water from a well, a skin tree over the lake, trembling in the quiet leaves, skin cry of pivnya, skin of frowning, so fiery across the dark and high sky. And if I want to live up to one hundred and twenty rocky, as I have transferred to Did Nichipir, then only one life is not enough, and I want to endure all the charm and all the power of our Central Ural nature.
Vlіtku in lіsі
Dobre in the fox in the midday afternoon. Why is it not just a bit of a mess! The high pines grew trough peaks. Yalinki vignayut prickly thorns. To show off a curly birch with spare leaves. Tremt sira osika. Siliceous oak roskinuv virіznі leaves. Z poison the eye of the sun. The handguard is a chervonin stocked berry.
Convalue earrings fit between smooth, smooth leaves. A woodpecker knocking on a stoovbur with a bit of a nose. Shout out the Volga. Mined with a puffy tail chіpka bіlka. Far away in the bowl is the moon trisk. Chi does not know chi tse?
lis
And then you want to lay down a big droshky and go to the lane for hazel grouses. Cheerfully make your way along the highways and two walls of the high life. The ears are quietly hitting you in the face, the hairs are chilling by the legs, the quail is screaming all around, kin to run along the line. Axis i lis. Tin and quiet. Statnі wasps swan high above you; dovgі, hanging gilki birіz ice break up; cann_y oak stand, yak boєts, bilya beautifully lipa. You are walking in green, as it is in the middle of the road; great flies hang unruly in a golden twilight and raptom; midges come in at a standstill, light in the tin, dark on the sleep; birds sleep peacefully. The golden voice of a raspberry sounds like an innocent, balacucho joy: vin yde to the smell of convoys. Distant, distant, glibshe in the forest ... The forest is deaf ... The silence of the west is unchanged; that all around is so dreamy and quiet. Along the axis of the wind, and the noisy of the tops, the dumb falls. Kryz the borax with a leaf and grow a lot of grasses; mushrooms stand okremo with their droplets. Whisk the bilyak with a rapt, rush the dog with a quick bark with a slid.
Ossichnyak darkened in the clay, becoming a thick gloom, and over the white-trunk birch, only the rizhevshie were silently fluttering, a little more to the twisted crowns. The sky was bright, but it was burning out from the western edge. The birds were humming all the way up, crumbling before going to bed on the horns. The blackbirds were grumbling grumpily, and through the kolizhka, meaning in the middle black, tough snig, the woodcocks spilled often, they missed the cry and swayed their own screech with the jib in the middle.
... In the evening, which has already covered the fox, in the hollow sky, in the vuhaty anemone-sheets, adjacent to the bili vii at the beginning, in the open rias, in the naked herbalists, in the goose bump, resting to the stump, in the teddy bear under the skin of the Osseyinka, , birches, yalinkas - everyone, everyone has close to me the joy of awakening, I want everything to go to sleep.
I was greeted with a yak bi childish troop. Nature obscures itself without one eye for nothing, to pretend to be a sleepyhead - even the sun has gone, і evening instructions, і there was peace, і sleep, і wake up.
The earth sat down, sirochilas in the distance, ale everything was in the cunning, like a sleepy sleep and hearing.
Chu! Burmoche in the balts, darkened bird cherries, snigovy strumok; zavavachіl in ostichnyaki zaєts, scho dropping into addictions their fear and protection; and a raven, a moving raven, imported into a yalitsy and also a murkinnya, such a dialect of things, which is also known as a little bit of good and lawlessness of the same living soul. Here is a little peasant little cake, a merry cavalier; Here in a dziobom, having run over a dry stoovbur, is a black woodpecker. Deranul and heard himself - yak music! And far, far away, in quiet and empty fields, flooded with kalyuzh, gulls cried and awakened haystacks in the breasts of a self-produced crane, but for the third day we could walk around the field and cry, when we were sick with a voice ...
I do not sleep, I see him. Without them, it’s not calm, and it won’t be until the first leaf. Everything is alive, radio and empty in homelessness to the fox, to the youth, to the roar, to the love.
Earth-mothers and all nature is wise, with a blissful smile spontaneously behind your children - soon, soon all the land will be called: there will be nests, there will be nests, you will see hollows in the trees, you will be blowing on the currents, waking up ... The brotherhood is foolish, hopelessly and very soulful to boil over, extinguish, distribute to the family and start a turbocharger about children and houses. In the light of the day to enter the dignity and trouble, it is more important for the triumph in the fox ...
And leave the emaciated, ale wobbly fox people, shattered with more songs, and not with the dearest of God, cheeky more impatiently than the first drowsy exchange, it is impossible to swell with love. In the veins of all living things, in the midst of trees, in the hearts of birds and beasts, flow, pounding, wandering juices and the roof of spring.
On the field vlіtku
Fun on the field, fun on the wide! Until the blue swamp of the distant forest, it’s as if it’s going to run along the humps of the pink color nivi. Khvilyuєtsya golden rye; draws in the bricks. Blue young oats; bilin quitucha buckwheat with red stalks, with white-horny, honey quotes. Curly peas were brought along the road, and behind them a black-green little lion with blakytnye very. On the other side of the road there are black fields before the ferry.
Zhayvoronok flutters over the rye, and the gostrokril eagle will be amazed at the height: to batter the wine and the shouting spike into a thick rye, to bash the wine and the bear to the bear, like it’s asleep in its hole with the grain, as it falls into the stigly ear. Hundreds of invisible bunks everywhere.
ranked exchanges
A chervone sonechko whirled to the sky and became the power of its golden exchange everywhere - to wake up the earth.
The first flight and after a meal on a zhayvoronka. Strephenuvsya zhayvoronok, vipurhnuv from the nest, growing high, high and drowning in his average pet: “Oh, how good is it in the new ranked meal! Yak Garneau! Yak welcome! "
Another promin 'having spent on a bunny. Having remixed the bunny in two vuhay and having merrily stricken along the rosian pockets: defeated in the dobuvati sob of juicy herbs on the snidanok.
After drinking the third meal in a kurnik. Having splashed with krills and filled up: ku-ku-ri-ku! Smoke evil from ours, zakudkudakav, began to develop smittya and worms shukati. After drinking a quarter at the wolves. Vipovzla bdzhilka from the wax cell, sat on the end of the road, the rules of the krill і - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to pick honey from spare kits.
After having spent some time in the child, on the lazhechko to the little lady: rіzhe right in the eyes, and wіn turned to another bіk and once again falling asleep.
Dostovsky Fedir Mikhailovich
I have come across a crescent moon in our village: a dry and clear day, a bit cold and wintry; let it end, and soon the need to go to Moscow will know nudguvati all winter for French lessons, І me so Skoda zalishti village. I walked behind the current і, going down into the yar, going to Losk - this is how the thick chagarnik is called by us on the other side of the yar to the very roshi. I’m all busy in my right, I’m busy: I’m grabbing a bitter whip, shmagati їm frogs; batogs from the leaves are so beautiful and so German, kudi against birch trees. Borrow less lumps and bugs, I їх pick, є are even more wobbly; I love maybe small, inverted, red-zhovtih lizards, with black tsyatki, ale of snakes I'm afraid. At the same time, the snakes are trailing on the back of the lakes. There are few mushrooms here, you need to go to the birch forest for mushrooms, and I'm going to get back. I am not so fond of anything in my life, as it is with mushrooms and wild berries, with lumps and birds, with lumps and little bites, from which I will love the sympathetic smell of twisted leaves.
dignity of Mikiti
(Urivki)Lovlennya and cakes were satisfied. The birds were locked up, the flies became dull on the windows. Until the evening, the low sun was in the baking імлі. The day has come quickly. Bulo zovsіm dark - zhodnoї zirki. The arrow of the barometer firmly called - "storm" ...
The first axis, in the dead silence, chirped, dully and gravely, the whirring noise at the rate, the shouts of the grakys flew over. The noise became all the way, less clean, and a strong porous wind at the reception of the acacia at the balcony, smelled in the door, brought in a splinter of dry leaf, blinking the fire in the frosted bottle of the lamp, flying in the air in the sound of the bell.
Here it’s buzzing, knocking or breaking the slope. The whole garden is now noisy, creaky stovbury, invisible peaks.
The first axis - a blue-blue loose light, opened up nothing, the tree was low on the black outlines. I know darkness. I grimaced, collapsing the whole sky. Over the noise, I don’t feel like they fell and dripped onto the slope. Klinuv boards - strong, bagaty, flow.
The smell of vologues, spili, reminiscent of the board and grass ...
Bezhin meadow
Buv a beautiful linden day, one quiet day, as only toddy trails, if the weather has risen for more. 3 most early wound the sky is clear; rankova dawn does not burn with burning: it is filled with lagid blush. The dawn is fiery, not baked, like an hour of speculative dry land, like before a storm, like before a storm, a little light and pleasantly exchanged - peacefully pouring down from the vuzkoy and the foggy, lightly glistening The upper, thin edge of the elongated mark is covered with snakes; blisky to the blink of a wrought-iron medium ... Ale the axis they rushed to the exchanges, - both merrily, and majestically, the dummies are vicious, they may be flashing. By noon, it is easy to see a lackluster round, high-pitched gloom, golden-blue, with the lower, bile edges. Likewise, to the islands, which were spread out over the endlessly, the rychtsi were spreading, soaking them with deeply penetrating sleeves of torn blue, the stench may not be destroyed in the miss; distant, up to the sky, the stench sizzles, shrinks, blues between them do not bachiti; ale the stench itself is so azure itself, like the sky: the stench of everything is seemingly slick with light and warmth. Color sky-high, light, lilac-purple, does not change for the whole day and around the same; nowhere is it dark, but a thunderstorm is not thick; hiba de-no-de to stretch from the top to the bottom of the blakytny smog: then the ice of the dark planks sits. Until the evening, tsi khmari know; the rest of them, chornuvati and unimportant, like dim, kick with horny clubs navpaki of a prized dream; on the place, it went so quietly, as it quietly went to the sky, scarlet syayvo varto for a short hour over the dark earth, and, quietly, like a lightly carried little bell, to be sent off to the new evening of dawn. These days of the Farbi have everything in mind; light, but not bright; on everything bears the seal of how loudly lagidnost.
At such days, the heat of the field is even stronger, and sometimes it is “shiryak” along the fields of the fields; Ale viter rozganiaє, rozsovu accumulated spec, і vichori-circularity - maddening sign of constant weather -Visogo bilimi stovpami walk along the roads through the іllu. Dry i pure povitri it smells like polynomial, stisl_y rye, buckwheat; visit one year before night and do not see any. Podibnoy wait, bazhak hliborob for picking hlib ...
Litniy linden wound: worth it oak forestі shine, chervonіє on sotsі; still svizho, alas, see the closeness of specs.
The first thing is that the forest itself is good for a good autumn ... There is no noise, no light, no light, no noise, no noise; in the myaky povіtrі razlitiy ostіnnіy smell, similar to the smell of wine; a thin fog stands far away ... the earth is springy under the feet ...
In early summer, tear down in the forest, to the river, how to quietly change the trees.
Suggest about the hedgehog: take bread with you with butter. Sit down on a mossy beach, stretch out and throw yourself into the cold water.
Don't be afraid to get cold. Shine willpower. When you are bathing, you know you will see the place and lie down on the hot little son. Rob the whole day, and you will be healthy. And lіtnіy, lime wound! .. If you miss the wet bushes, you will be soaked in the warm smell of the night. Kryz thick bushes of the leaves, entangled with chilly grass, go down to the bottom of the yar. Exactly: before the shaving itself hide dzherelo ... You throw yourself on the ground, you got drunk, and you turn your hair around, You in tin, you see the smell of smelling vogkistyu; good to you ...
Lіtnіy vechіr
At the distant and the blue of the sky, little stars appeared only; at the entrance it is still chervonilo - there and the sky has grown clearer and clearer; pіvkolo mіsyatsya glittered in gold, a black net of weeping birch. Іnshі trees, or stood with frowning veletnami, squeezing swaying, at the sight of their eyes, or they were angry in the gloom of the community. Joden leaf is not bursting; the upper heads of the buzku and akats_y didn’t listen to them before, and they were playing in a warm meal. The little house is dark close by; With the plumes of red light, they painted on the new illumination of the day. Lagidny and quiet boulevard evening; ale of streams, shy podihivsya in the silence.
Thunderstorm in Lisy
Tolstoy Oleksiy Mikolayovich Ale scho tse? Vіter rapt attack і rush; povitra zdrignuvsya stake: chi not chi chi? You go out from the ravine ... what for the leaden darkness to the sky? Is there a sinter cake? Chmara chi puff up? There was a faint blink of light on the axis ... E, that thunderstorm! Around the sun more brightly: it is possible to love. Ale hmara grows; the front edge is knitted with a sleeve, for crypts. Grass, bushes, everything darkened with rapt ... Shvidshe! he, to be built, to be seen in a blue shed ... shvidshe ... You have finished, gone ...Yaky board? What are the bliskavki? Water dripped through the straw on the ground sino ... Ale the axis of the sun has already swallowed. The thunderstorm has passed; vi go. My God, I’m having fun all around, like it’s fresh and sweet, like it smells like mushrooms and mushrooms! ..
The sun, which had recently risen, flooded the whole guy with a strong, if not brightened with light; dewdrops glittered everywhere; everything dies with freshness, life and this innocent cleanliness of the first mitts of the wound, since everything is so bright and so mad. Just a little bit there was a lot of voices and voices of zhayvorons over the far-off fields, so in the very last two or three birds, who were coming, brought up their short colts, and the Germans heard it in the dark, as the price was lost in them. From the wet earth smelled healthy, mint smell, clean, light overflowing with cool streams.
The weather was miraculous, more beautiful, less earlier; ale of a speck all did not vgamovuvalas. Over the clear sky, ice-ice swept high і rіdkіsnі hmari, zhovtuvato-bіli, like spring recordings of snow, flat and dovgasti, like the winds went down. Їх vіzerunkovі edge, fluffy and light, like cotton papіr, generally, ale mabut snorted with skin mitty; the stink of tanuli, tsi hmari, and from them did not fall tini. Mi Dovgo wandered with Kasyan through the cross-sections. The young plots, who have not yet caught up with the arshins' vishyagnutsya, have recovered with their thin, smooth stems pochornilі, low pnі; round lip parts of growths with gray blooms, those growths themselves, from which vivary are rubbish, sticky to cich pniv; Sunnitsa let her wussiks on them: the mushrooms were sitting quietly in the same place. Legs steadily waddled and chilled in the grass, re-cut by the hot sun; everywhere rippled in the eyes of the sharp metal blisca of young, red leaves on the trees; everywhere there were blakytny hrones of "crane peas", golden cups of "chicken slips", half lilov, half zhovti quiti ivan-da-marya; podkudi, for those who left the roads, on which paths they began with swarms of chervona and other herbs, or purchases of firewood, which were darkened out to the ground and the board, folded in fathoms; A weak tin fell from them with oblique chotirikutniki, - the first tin did not bulo nowhere. A slight wonder now prokidav, then wowed: blow the rapt right into the face and start playing, - everything is fun to make noise, nodding and moving around, gracefully tricked by the naughty little kids, the axis of the ferns, - happy in the middle of the winter ... ... Some of the conics shake together, the dumb ones are embittered, - an uninterrupted, sour and dry sound. Win yde until the inaccessible bake of noon; win nemov populace їm, nemov wiklikaniy їm from baked earth.
And lіtnіy, lime wound! Who, krіm mislivtsya, viprobuvav, how to wander like wandering at dawn in the bushes? Green rice frog the slid of your nig on the rosian, beaten grass. If you miss the wet bushes, you will be soaked in the warm smell of the night; All of it tastes like fresh girkoy polina, honey of buckwheat and "porridge"; in the distance of the wall there is an oak forest and shine and chervonin on the sun; still svizho, alas, see the closeness of specs. The head languidly swells away from the excess plowing. Chagarnik does not have a kint ... get far away, reaching the wheat, with vuzhny smugs, chervonin buckwheat. The axis was ripped viz; A man will make his way in crook, put zadalegіd kіn in tіn ... You clung to him, came out - the sonorous muddy mows the moon behind you ... The dream is everything and everything. Shvidko the grass is drying. The axis has already become hot. To pass the year, friend ... The sky is dark at the edges; prickly sintering dikhaє neruhome povitrya. "De b, brother, have you fed up here?" -I feed the vee from the mower. "And he is in the yar krinitsya."
Kryz thick bushes of the leaves, entangled with chilly grass, go down to the bottom of the yar. Exactly: under the very shave to hide dzherelo; oak bush greedily having thrown its knots over the water; large bulbs, goydayuchis, come from the bottom, covered with other oxamite moss. You throw yourself on the ground, you get drunk, and you will turn a little bit more. Vi in tіnі, in a dichaєte fragrant vogkіstu; good to you, but against you the booths will be fired up and the dumb ones will be on the dream. Ale scho tse? Vіter rapt attack і rush; povitrya zdrignuvsya stake: chi not chi chi? You go out from the ravine ... what for the leaden darkness to the sky? Is there a sinter cake? hmara chi puff up? .. Ale axis faintly flashed bliskavka ... E, that thunderstorm! Around it is still easy to light up the sun: it is possible to fall in love. Ale the gloom grows: the front and the edge of the sleeves, nahilyaєtsya crypts. Grass, bushes - everything darkened with raptom ... Shvidshe! He, to be built, to be seen in a blue shed ... shvidshe! We beat, escaped ... Yaky board? Yaki bliskavki? Water dripped through the straw on the ground sino ... Ale the axis of the sun was already swallowing. The thunderstorm has passed; vi go. My God, I’m having fun all around, like it’s fresh and sweet, like it smells like mushrooms and mushrooms! ..
Ale axis is now evening. Zorya burst into flame and coped with pivneba. Sonce sіdaє. Something close, like especially insight, dumb curses; in the distance frog soft steam, warm to the viglyad; at once with dew a chervonia blisk is falling on the Galavin, which has recently been doused with streams of rare gold; from the trees, from the bushes, from the tall stacks of trees, they were beaten by the trees ... Sonce silo; the glare froze and tremble at the sunset in the open sea ... The axis is out of the blue; blue sky; okremі tіnі know, overwhelmed with water. It's time to go to the house, to the village, to the hut, to sleep. Throwing a towel over the shoulders, you go quickly, unimpressed on the second ... for twenty crocs, nothing is visible; dogs ice bilyut at temryavi. The axis above the black bushes, the edge of the sky is vaguely clear. What is it? Pozhezha? .. Ні, tse go off a month.
Speka made us go to the guy. I rushed down a high bush of a leaf, above a young, stringy maple, having thrown my legendary heads.
Kasyan grabbed the horses of the chopped birch tree. I marveled at the new one. The leaves thrashed weakly in the top of the tree, and they quietly pushed back and forth along the top of the tree, so wrapped in a dark gray, by the little one. Winn’t getting a head. Having exhausted myself with a young man, I lay on my back and felt my peace of mind in a peaceful array of tangled leaves on the distant light sky. It’s wonderful for me to be busy lying on my back in the footsteps and wondering up the hill! You will be built, if you are looking at the endless sea, that it will spread out wide before you, that trees will not grow out of the earth, ale, the roots of the majestic dews are dumb, descend, fall straight into those glass, it is clear; Leaves on the trees sometimes smell with emeralds, then thicken in golden, black greens. Somehow far away, ending up with a thin gilka, it is uncomfortable to stand around a leaf on a blaky klaptik of the clear sky, and if you are instructed to hunt for it, you can use your ruff to hit a rough reach, as if it were ruff, it wouldn’t be done on its own. The charming underwater islands are quietly pouring and quietly passing through the round hmari, - the axis, the whole sea, the light in the morning, the dusts and leaves, drenched in a dream, - everything is jumbled, dripping lightly, it looks like The uninterrupted drink of the raptus filled the brijah. Vi do not collapse - see wonder; і it is not possible to rotate with words like it is radіnі ,і quietly, і malt on the heart. See wonder: that gliboka, pure blink of zbujє on your lips, a laugh, innocent, as you are, as you are in the sky, and as now with them, as low as they are, pass to the soul, happy, wait, and all of you are here, look your eyes distant and distant and pulling you behind yourself into that spokiyna, present without one, and unhappily seeing through the whole world, through the whole world ...
("Taras Bulba")
Step scho dal, then it became a shortcut. Todi all the day, all that space ... up to the Black Sea was filled with green, uncrowded wilderness ... Nothing in nature could be more beautiful. The entire surface of the earth seemed like a green-golden ocean, as if a milion of young birds gleamed ... a spike of wheat poured into the thicket ... In the sky the hawkers stood unruly, spreading their krill and plunging their eyes into the grass unruly ... He was there at the temple and only to blink with one black point; he threw krill over there and flashed before the sun ... Devil take you, steppes, yak see! .. "
Yak languid specotnі years, if midday is mid-quiet and special.
... Mustache has died; In the mountains only, in the heavenly glibines, tremble the lice, and the dream to fly after the descents to the zakhana land, that bright cry of a seagull or the sound of a quail's voice can be heard in the steppe. Line and soullessly, they walk without a breeze, stand on the floor, and the slumbering blows of the sleepy prominence will ignite a whole lot of malovnichi leaves, throwing it on the dark, as it is not, at least, when it’s strong, it’s golden. Smaragdi, topazi, yahonti efіrnyh comas sip over the stringy cities, ossiaanі old sleepyheads. The siri skirti sina and golden sheaves of khlib are crumpled in the field and wander through its invisibility. Nahilivshis from the wagy of the fruit wide gilki cherries, plums, apples, pears: the sky, the sky is purely a mirror-rychka in greenery, proudly raised frames.
lis make a noise
Korolenka Volodymyr GalaktyonovichLis to make noise ...
At the end of the day, there was a noise - a raging, prolonged one, like a distant ringing, calm and sumny, like a quiet song without tears, like a fog about the past. At the new one, there was a noise, and that was just old, a dormant pine forest, like the saw and the head of the lice barishnik did not poke around. The high capital pines with red-colored cannabis stoves stood frowning at the rattan, shieldingly enclosed in the mountains by the green peaks. Downstairs it was quiet, it smelled of tar; across the back of the pine heads, the ground was whipped like a boole, the ferns were making their way, chimeras with a fringe, and stood unruffly, without moving a leaf. In the Sirikh cocks, the green grass stretched like tall stalks; the little gruel was wriggling with boiled heads, as if in a quiet znemozia. And in the mountains, without finishing and interrupting, pulling on the fossil noise, as if the confusion of the old forest.
Yaka buvaє dew on the grass
If in a sleepy wound, in a stream, in a forest, then in the fields, in the grass, you can see diamonds. All diamonds are worth shining and shimmering on dreamy colors - і zhovtim, і chervonim, і blue.
If it comes closer and closer, it’s like that, then it’s like a drop of dew picked up in three-piece leaves of grass and shine on the sun. A leaf of the whole herb in the middle of the volohaty and fluffy, like oxamite.
I dots roll on the leaf and do not wet it.
If the leaf is unprotectedly covered with dewdrop, then the speck will scramble, like a bag of light, and not poach, like a slug on the stem. Buvalo, zirvesh such a cup, slowly bring a dewdrop to the company and a dewdrop, and a dewdrop tsya tastier be-what kind of drink to be given.
rap'ah
I turned around the fields. Bula is the very middle of the lita. The meadows were tidied up and they were just going to mow the crop.
Є enchanting pidbir kolorіv tsієї poori rock: chervony, bili, rozhevі, zapashnі, fluffy porridge ... milk-white, with a bright-juicy middle "love-ni-love" from its spicy currants; zhovta rape with its wise smell; lilov and bili tulips-visible dvinochki stand high; popping peas; zhovtі, chervonі, rozhevі, lіlovі, akuratnі scabiosi; with three horny fluff and a delicate smell of plantain, hairs, bright blue on sleep and in youth and blaky and chervony in the evenings and old age; і nіzhni, with a flickering smell, it’s innocently v'yanuchі, quit birches.
I typed a great bunch of summer quotes and iss to the house, if I had seen the monstrous crimson raspberries in the ditch, in the main color, turnips of that variety, which we call a "Tatar" Do not stab your hands. Me fell asleep on the thought of the zirvati tsei rep'yakh and put him in the middle of the bouquet. I crawled by the ditch, catching a bit of a bit of jmele in the middle of the ticket and falling asleep in the middle of the ticket, having smelled the ticket. It was a little more important: moreover, the stalk was thrashing from the whiskers, to wind through the jungle, like I had a sunburn of my hand, - I’m so terribly minded, I’m fighting against it, I’m getting sick, one at a time, ripping fibers. If I, nareshty, having pulled out a note, the stem is already all in lakhmitti, that letter is not yet so fresh and garnished. In addition, I was guilty for my brutality and lack of work not coming to the bottom of the bouquet. I pokhkoduvav, scho marno ruining the ticket, which buv is good in my mice, and I threw yo. “Yaka, however, is energy and the power of life,” I thought, guessing the Zusilla, with which I draw a card.
Yak vin is able to seize and sell his life dearly. "
juveniles
Along the banks of the rychka, one to one bushes of currants, willows, willows and lisova raspberries were growing; green, sokovita sedge entered the water itself, shone and bent under the pressure of the rychkovy stream, as it is alive. The podkudi rotted and washed the logs from the ground, and for the sake of them the young honeysuckle pogoni were already cut; there and then there were funny little shots of Ivan tea and swampy people. Close to the old people pniv, like the road is unliving, a store-bought shopkeeper with his zhovty hats. At the very edge of the forest, a branch of young ossichnyak, shimmering on the sun with its own ruchomies, metal leaves, and far away with a green wall, birch forests and over the course of the course of a period of time, little trees from the field of zoru. All the more beautiful are the boules of the young and the birches, which grew up along the sides and down the halls: the stench looked like the yurba of children, from the wicked swing they vibrated at the steepness and the stars were milwaty all the way down. When it was building, it was good for the fox juveniles slyly whispering among themselves, happy on a sleepy day, and that only the youth was strong enough.
Lіtnі nights in the Urals
In the end of the summer nights in the Urals, there is especially garnie: from above, the bottomless blue glibine marvels at you, lightly stressed by phosphoric light, so that around the stars and the subtlety it seems to be destroyed in the dark light tone; It’s quite quiet and it’s easy to catch the best sound; sleep in foggy lis; nezvorushno, cost water; to see new birds and they appear and know in the caught wind soundlessly, like they are on the screen of the charming licher.
On the ear of a sickle
The first days of the sickle have come. There were two cold wounds, and the leaves did not catch the leaves of the screech, and the grass was covered with fresh beaches. The dream was already not so brightly shining from the blaky sky, it got up and kicked earlier; Some of the winds filled with unprecedented sounds, swaying the tops of the trees and glimmering brightly, overflowing the chilled string in the evening. The joys of the short summer season went to the end, before the end of the day, the endless autumn with anger, indignation, dark nights, pounding and coldness was pissed off. Mayzhe I spent the whole great hour at the fox, on the pole; The coniferous forest was more beautiful in the autumn and looked fresh in the skin day.
Mowing
It's a beautiful summer day, since the sleepy exchanges have long since lost their freshness, we went to the so-called "secret little bites" zberіgayutsya with special suvorіstu. It was only as soon as they went to the footsteps of the yar, becoming a deaf, unseen noise that could be heard to my ear: sometimes urivchasty and worldly rustle, intermittently alternate and know the winery, then as the ringing of the metal. I energized at once: "Sho tse take?" - "And the axis poachish!" - having called Batko, laugh. Ale behind the young and frequent ossichnyak shoots, nothing could be seen; if they were beaten by yogo, the divine species struck my eyes. Forty peasants were mowing Lyudin, looking in one line, yak on the thread; Yaskravo Vibliyskuyuch on sontsi, zitali mows, and strings of rows kicked the dense grass. Having walked through the next row, the mowers zupinilsya raptom and felt the chimos sharpening their mows, cheerfully shifting among themselves with hot promotions, as it is possible to greet at the gutsy smirk: to perceive the words, it is rather unhappy. Metallic sounds were blown out of the wood with wooden blades, covered with clay for a shot, for nothing I knew. If we came close and my dad said in an extravagant way: "God help me!" for "God on help", guchne: "Dyakuyu, father Oleksiy Stepanovich!" Galyavin was bared, drove into a hole, and now the villagers were prodovzhuvali widely, spritically, easily and vіnno rozmakhuvati with braids! The robot was going good, fun, so I didn’t rattle, if they told me that it’s just as important. It’s like a light twist, like a miraculous smell, spreading from a nearby forest and mowing grass early, like a bustle of empty odorless quotes, like from a specotny dream, a particularly fragrant smell came out of a specular dream! The grass stood unencumbered, hanging in the waist, and the villagers said: “For the grass! Vedm_d vedmedem! "Jackdaws and crows were already walking behind the green, in the high rows of mown grass, raiding from the forest, and overcame the nests. I was told that the stench was picking up small lumps., The lumps and worms, like the persh for holed in the thick grass, and now they ran to the ground over the thrown stalk of the dews and on the bare ground. When you are closer, I have crossed over with my eyes, but the truth is absolute. Ponad those, I have thought, that birds pecked and berries. In grass, the midnight is green, but rather large; At the same time, she got up to it. From the beveled rows, we collected on a great bunch of such berries, among which there were a lot of snake bitters; A lot of them would like not to be black, ale boules are still mellow and savory.
grass sea
From the first crocus, wild grasses hunted us from our sides. The stench of the boule is so high and so thick, like the ludin, who stood by, having trampled in their place. Below, with your feet - grass, in front and behind - grass, from the sides - also grass, and only in the mountains - no sky... When I was building, I walked along the bottom of the grassy sea. The price of the hostility grew even stronger, if, having come to the yak-nebudu bush, I bawled, like a step, I swallowed. With ostrache and battles, I know I have broken the grass and the dal. It is so easy for tsikh mіstsyah to get lost, like in lіsі. The little ones were out of the way, but they immediately went to correct their mercy. Knowing how I love the bush, I went on it and looked forward to see it. Dersu hapav polin with his hands and brought it down to the ground. I marveled ahead - before me lay the endless grassy sea.
In lisі
Yes, all the distance is in the forest, in the bluish image, the sun rises in golden exchange. In the warm calmness of the forest, there is a quiet sound like a special noise, a light and anxious world. Squeak crossbills, tinkle tits, laugh the zozulya, whistle the volga, the jealous song of the chaffinch sounds incessantly, the wondrous bird - the schur - is thoughtfully sleeping. Smaragdovy toad chicks shave off with their feet; mіzh roots, having given a gold head, lie in the same guard. Klatsak bilka, in the paws of the pines to wink її plump hvist; bachish is namey rich, I want bachiti more and more, all the distance.
Nichna pozhezha in lisi
And in the night, the forest took in an unimportantly terrible, Kazkovian viglyad: the blue wall of yogi grew up, and in the glibinia, among the Chorny Stovburys, they noticed crazy, stricken hearts, volohatic beasts. The stench fell to the ground to the root of the і, lumped by the storms, the spriti maws climbed up the hill, fought one by one, lamayuchi gillya, whistling, buzzing and buzzing.
The figurines in the fires of the Black Stovburys, and the dance of the Tsikh figur, was unstoppable, in an unintelligible manner. The axis, without grabbing, thrown, thrown, wriggled at the knots of the ore wisdom, consuming the shmat of the fire, lise, as if for honey, along the stovbur up the hill, and when we reached the crowns, I wrap around them with gold wipes and wolves ; the zvir axis easily flips over onto a bush tree, and there, de vin bov, on the black, naked thumbs, they fired up in the bezel blakitny candles, purple mischiefs run over the bitches; the barks of the stovbura to whine, up and down, hundreds of fires in the fire.
Inodі vogon vipovzav from the lisu, stealthily, like a cat on a lily for a bird, and a rapt, pіdnyavshis face, looking around - how to shop? Abo the raptom buv blisky, half-minded wedd-vivsyanik and povz on the ground on the stomach, wide spreading paws, loading the grass into the majestic pashch.
Rіdnі mіstsya
I love the Meshchersky region for those who are beautiful, who want all of their belonging not to be revealed all at once, but even more often, step by step.
At first glance, the earth is quiet and uncomplicated under the unflattering sky. Ale chim more and more knowledge, more and more, more and more painful in the heart, started to love the unwitting land. If I have a chance to seize my land, then here in my heart I will be nobility, but I will seize a clap of the earth, which has brought me back to me, and intelligence is more beautiful, since it’s not too much to see it in love, - a lot of lice, pretensions do not forget, as nikoli do not forget the persha of love.
lіtnі menace
Lіtnі menace to pass over the earth and fall over the horizon. Bliskavki sometimes hit the ground with a direct blow, then flicker on black gloom.
Viblisku rainbow over siro dalu. Grim to move, gurkoche, grumble, gurkoche, crush the earth.
Litnya spec
There was a spec. Mi yshli pine forests... Kapustians shouted. It smelled of pine bark and sunflower. Hawks hang over the tops of the pines. List buv stresses from specs. We were soaked in thick bowls of wasps and birches. There the smell of grass and roots smelled. Until the evening we went to the lake. The stars were shining in the sky. The pitching with an important whistle flew to nothing.
Zirnytsya ... The very sound of the word yak bi is transmitted to the general nichny blisk of far-flung.
Most of the greens are in lime trees, if the bread is ripening. To that, the people will grow up, when the zernitsy will “bury the bread”, - it’s visible at night - and every kind of bread is poured shvidshe.
The mandate for bliskavitsya to stand in one poetic row, the word dawn - one z wonderful wordsросійської мови.
Do not speak the word nikoli in a voice. You can't find your own, but you can shout out loud. To that, it’s so much like the weary silence of the night, if pure and weak blue is busy over the overgrowths of the silsky garden. "Develops", as it seems about the time to do it in the people.
In the glow of the year, low over the land itself, the rankova zirka has fallen. It’s clean, like dzherelnaya water.
At dawn, in the family, I am a dear, precious. At dawn, the grass is omitted with dew, and in the villages we smell of warm young milk. I sleep in the fogs outside the shepherd's zhalyka.
Svita shvidko. The warm hut has quiet, darkness. Ale the axis on the chopped wall kicks the squares of the orange light, and the logs light up, like a sharuvatiy burshtin. Go to the sun.
Zorya buvaє is not just a rank, ale and an evening. We often have two mischievous witnesses - zaid son and vechirnyu dawn.
Evening dawn is to be repaired, if the sun has already gone over the edge of the earth. Todi vona opanovuє dimming sky, bottling on a new without lich farb - from red gold to bryuzi - and occasionally go into every day and into the night.
Screaming derkachi in the bushes, b'yut quail, bugay buzzing, burning first glimpses, and the dawn is still dying over the distance and fogs.
kviti
Bilya vodi in great curtains looked out from the thicket of my innocent blakitnooki forget-me-nots. And the distance, behind the dangling loops of life, bloomed along the shilia of a wild gorobin with tight, jovty sutsvitty. The high-pitched chervona of the stable was mixed with the bee peas and the bedstraw, and the Velet's thistle thistle was taken over by the foodstuffs. Vin mitsno standing up to his waist at the grass and similar to the face in armor with steel spikes on the plates and knee-pads.
Heat up over the quotations of "mliv", going, and then from the dermal cup, you can see the swarthy cherevets of the jmel, bjoli or the axes. Yak bili and lemon leaves, seemingly, littered panicles.
And even further away with a high style, there was a glid and a ship. Gilki їkh so intertwined, so he was well, not a few in the fires of the ship and the bile, the scent of a miracle, the glory of a miracle was released on one and the same booth.
Shipshina standing, turning in great quotes until the sun, staggering, calling svyatkovy, covering the bezel-less hospitality of the buds. Color of yogo zbіgalosya with ourselves on short nights- on our Russian, three-year-old winter nights, if the nightingales make up in the dew without interruption, the green dawn is not far from the horizon, and in the dead of night it is so clear that the girski peaks of the chmur are visible in the sky.
Blessed board
On the cob of a worm, they often went unwittingly for lita boards: quiet, in an ossinny summit, without thunderstorms, without winters. Vrantzi from the approach, from behind the distant humps, vilazila poplyasto-blue-gray chmara. Vona grew, widened, took over the pivneba, - ominously dark and dark, and at the same time, it went down like that, like a serpentine, the lower plastic ones stood behind the trees in the steppe, on the mounds; Here, high and good-naturedly, in the last sensitive octave, we moved the time, and descended the grace-filled board.
Warm, dumb breezes of fresh milk, droplets fell straight into the misty quiet earth, swelled like bulbs on the dried out dusty kalyuzh. І such a quiet and peaceful buv tsei lіtnіy sparse planks, so that quits didn’t wipe their heads, wind smokes in the yards that didn’t sound like ukrittya. The stinking stink of the stench was filled with bile of sheds and vologues, pochornilich tins in the poop, and the wet and slightly lost their size to the food, indifferently on the boards, shouted in a stretch and in the wicked. The bad'ori voices were angry with the flowers, they bathed themselves without a mess in the kalyuzhs of virobes and the squeak of lasters, as if they fell in a quick sweat until they smelled like a board and a saw, tenderly gripping the earth.
In the steppe of the feasts there is a new colina. Behind the vigon zatsviv burkun. The smell of honey roasted all over the farm until evening. Ozimi khlib stood up to the horizon with a dark green wall, brightly gladdened the eye with friendly gatherings. The seropes were thickly nagged by the shooters of the young pagones of the corn, Until the end of the first half of the worm, the weather had risen mintly, the churns did not appear in the sky, and it was marvelously painted over with the sun, the quitucha, surrounded by the planks of the steppe! Bula won now, like a young mother, well, she is innocently beautiful, has quieted down, is tired, and everything is beautiful, happy and pure laugh of motherhood.
Doschik in lisi
There was a great dark gloom, she covered the pivneba. Grimoin.
A strong whirlwind swept along the lisy tops. The trees began to rustle, they circled the leaves over the stitch. The important drops fell. Bliskavka blinked, hitting gram.
Draping behind the dots, splashing the warm, pouring planks.
The dripping board smelled strongly of mushrooms in the fox. Grass has a stitch with boletus mushrooms, wet syroozhki, red fly agarics. Nemov is a little lads, to go black-headed pidberezniki.
There are densely growing young parts of the birch birch tree between bili birches. Here you can find stocked lumps and worm-heads.
And on the fossil galyavins there appeared the first Riga, the golden chanterelles.
a little bit later
In the distance there was a dull sound - the dark majes were taken to the village. The stench has risen by and large, terribly clumpy and proprietary to the very horizon.
It became dark and nimo in the village. The navit cattle quieted down in the cleanup. I raptom deafening gurkit strumonuv the ground.
Doors and gates splashed all over the village. People vibrated on the street, put cebri on the streams and on the pouring board, they were happily talking one by one. On kalyuzh, like a horse, barefoot ditlahs were worn, after a short summer.
cake
Serpnya is dry. I gave the spec. The vrants didn’t get caught up in the dim dew, the streaks and the little dew dried up, and the leaves wandered on the trees until noon. At the specotny, to the white baked child, for days on end, a pea-gray buzzard was milling about, crying piercingly and sadly:
“Pi-it! .. Pi-it! .. "Skіnchilosya lito.
A short period of time.
On the home pine forest, there was a little red wine, which did not wither. In the first snow, if you pass through the dark autumn fog, the little one will migrate to the remote seasons, to the lalin cone.
Fog, fog over the village ...
It was not at all that the gloom had descended to the ground, but the milk riches were poured out until the end.
Until noon, the fog settles, the virgin sun is not too good, and there are more cranes in the sky. We look like a wedge to fly, sad and pitiful Kurlik, not vibrating: mi, moving, in the warm land you see it, and then there is Kuwati.
Lito - tse wonderful time, how to love and check everything without a blame, both children, and grown-ups. It’s a wonderful hour of sleepy and warm days, trips to the sea for all of the seven or a friendly company, the ripening of roses, roses and the aroma of beautiful apartments, warm evenings, strolls in the park. Tse that hour, if I’m raving about the board, I’m dancing along with him, and when I am sweet with wonderful merriment, I’ll appear right over my head. Tse spіv ptahіv from early wound to late evening. Tse rankovo dew, dots like looking at the dumb little and charming crystals.
What are the children checking for? And yak same inakshe. Tse is in love with the time of the fate of the skin of them. tse lіtnі kanіkuli and for some three months. For an hour, you can spend a lot of time with friends, go to the sea or just go to the river. Lito for kids - the trip to the grandmother in the village, de fresher and cleaner, maybe go to the forest for a strong board and pick mushrooms. Itself here granny to drink fresh, warm milk.
Let me love everything. Nareshti, people can throw off their clothes and enjoy the warmth of a burning sun. Vlіtku all come to life and dress up in beautiful outfits. You can see the axis along the street, near the beauty, the trees stand in green outfits, beautiful fruits grow on them, the flowers flow over the quotes and the nectar is picked up. Everything comes to life right now, mending from the smallest goosebumps, from the smallest blade of grass. And it’s wonderful, you’ve been on the street in the evening to hear a svitlyachka, who, not without his participation, played his charming song. Yak is beautiful, beautifully, in the evenings on the street, you will see the stars in the clear sky.
The yak will ride very well early in the game. Vyhodish on the street and radish everything to see about. Everything is alive, blooming, smelling and not just eyes, but your soul.
Well, it’s worthwhile, it’s a lot of robots. Rising early in the morning, people go to the fields, or cities, and to look for the dews. It is possible to tune in a lot, even if you do not give up, allowing you to understand that it’s right at the same time, it’s warm and radiant on the street.
Why am I trying to love absolutely everything? But none of them didn’t pay homage to those who were lucky enough to make happy artists, as they stink beautifully about this time of rock. Hearing, mimovolі startєsh learn to those, who at once instruct an hour to find out, unpretentious fun, creativity, happiness and joy. Having gone to nature, in the number of friends or relatives, you can calmly porridge, breed bagatta and prepare your catch. In nature, you can take a walk at the versatile development of the game, beat the outline and play the game from the guitar to the very wound. You are welcome, and nature welcomes you at the same time.
Yak splendidly sprinkle the board behind the speckles, as it falls into the river, and when it flies, I will be able to see a beautiful picture, which can be done even more. Tsya Brizhi is just charming.
Vlіtku fixsh vіriti in wonder and zdіisnennya bazhan. It’s time to nadihaє people on the skennya vchinkіv, I want to create, it’s more beautiful, so it’s great to represent the warmth of the soul and joy.
I walk along the streets, wonder, and here the self-help is growing far away, and I walk to the nearest neighbor and sposter a beautiful picture, there is a beautiful snowstorm sitting on this pink rose line, like nectar and mahaw with their own crystals. And that's all, the quote is not itself, it is not self-explanatory. Before it flew a mile away from the opening, and after the viprominuvaty its beauty yaskravishhe.
Lito - a wonderful time, a time of love
Vlіtku I know yak children vіrimo in an outfit of beauty.
An hour of merriment and a loud laugh about,
Lito - what is more beautiful? Wono is the closest friend.
After thinking about summer, I want to create, fold the verses and the verity into beauty. Having zanurivshis in the center warmly and seeing the caress of numerous sleepy exchanges, I do not want to think, but autumn will come to change the summer, then winter and again, in the early spring we will check the litas.
Surely, whether the time is beautiful and unforgettable in its own way, but why should all love so much? It's just that at the time of rock it is possible for a fair reason and relaxation. Go for a swim in the sea, take a walk on a beautiful food beach, ride around all the countries and places, get to know more about other peoples and cultures. knowledge of history rіznih lands, Become a part of the history of history, touch the beautiful. On the power of the eyes, patronize the memory, try the cuisine of the people, and enter the life of quiet nations and people whom we didn’t know.
Itself at the end of the hour I want to forget about all the problems and just enjoy the lives, go to the kazku and go to the bazhan. It’s the same flow of lovely visits and charming gatherings. Just at once I will blow the wind.
Lito - tse dyysno, divovizhniy hour of rock, in the yak you want to get bogged down. Yogo checkєsh I know and I know. І from fate to rіk, radієsh to the same son, to the same kits, dews and boards.
Suggestions for children about summer, nature and food.
my Russia
For three years, I have become attached to the Middle Russia with all my heart. I don’t know the land, but Volodya with such a majestic lyrical strength and such a scandalous malovnichiy - with his own money, calm and spaciousness, like the middle swarth of Russia. The magnitude of the love of love is important. Leather knows by itself. Love the skin of a blade of grass, shilling from the dew chi zigrita with a sun, a skin mug of water from a well, a skin tree over the lake, trembling in the quiet leaves, skin cry of pivnya, skin of frowning, so fiery across the dark and high sky. And if I want to live up to one hundred and twenty rocky, as I have transferred to Did Nichipir, then only one life is not enough, and I want to endure all the charm and all the power of our Central Ural nature.
Vlіtku in lіsі
Dobre in the fox in the midday afternoon. Why is it not just a bit of a mess! The high pines grew trough peaks. Yalinki vignayut prickly thorns. To show off a curly birch with spare leaves. Tremt sira osika. Siliceous oak roskinuv virіznі leaves. Z poison the eye of the sun. The handguard is a chervonin stocked berry.
Convalue earrings fit between smooth, smooth leaves. A woodpecker knocking on a stoovbur with a bit of a nose. Shout out the Volga. Mined with a puffy tail chіpka bіlka. Far away in the bowl is the moon trisk. Chi does not know chi tse?
lis
And then you want to lay down a big droshky and go to the lane for hazel grouses. Cheerfully make your way along the highways and two walls of the high life. The ears are quietly hitting you in the face, the hairs are chilling by the legs, the quail is screaming all around, kin to run along the line. Axis i lis. Tin and quiet. Statnі wasps swan high above you; dovgі, hanging gilki birіz ice break up; cann_y oak stand, yak boєts, bilya beautifully lipa. You are walking in green, as it is in the middle of the road; great flies hang unruly in a golden twilight and raptom; midges come in at a standstill, light in the tin, dark on the sleep; birds sleep peacefully. The golden voice of a raspberry sounds like an innocent, balacucho joy: vin yde to the smell of convoys. Distant, distant, glibshe in the forest ... The forest is deaf ... The silence of the west is unchanged; that all around is so dreamy and quiet. Along the axis of the wind, and the noisy of the tops, the dumb falls. Kryz the borax with a leaf and grow a lot of grasses; mushrooms stand okremo with their droplets. Whisk the bilyak with a rapt, rush the dog with a quick bark with a slid.
Ossichnyak darkened in the clay, becoming a thick gloom, and over the white-trunk birch, only the rizhevshie were silently fluttering, a little more to the twisted crowns. The sky was bright, but it was burning out from the western edge. The birds were humming all the way up, crumbling before going to bed on the horns. The blackbirds were grumbling grumpily, and through the kolizhka, meaning in the middle black, tough snig, the woodcocks spilled often, they missed the cry and swayed their own screech with the jib in the middle.
... In the evening, already swaddling the forest, in the hollow sky, in the vuhati anemone-quilts, adjacent to the bili vina, in the roasted ryast, in the naked herbalists, in the goose bump, stopping to the stump, in the bear's coat as a copy, in the skin birches, yalintsi - everyone, everyone is close to me, the joy of awakening, I want everything to go to sleep.
I was greeted with a yak bi childish troop. blackening out one eye for nothing, pretending to be a sleepy man - even the sun has gone, і evening instruction, і it was calm, і sleep, і wake up.
The earth sat down, sirochilas in the distance, ale everything was in the cunning, like a sleepy sleep and hearing.
Chu! Burmoche in the balts, darkened bird cherries, snigovy strumok; zavavachіl in ostichnyaki zaєts, scho dropping into addictions their fear and protection; and a raven, a moving raven, imported into a yalitsy and also a murkinnya, such a dialect of things, which is also known as a little bit of good and lawlessness of the same living soul. Here is a little peasant little cake, a merry cavalier; Here in a dziobom, having run over a dry stoovbur, is a black woodpecker. Deranul and heard himself - yak music! And far, far away, in quiet and empty fields, flooded with kalyuzh, gulls cried and awakened haystacks in the breasts of a self-produced crane, but for the third day we could walk around the field well-being and cry, when we were sick in the voice of Nema, sleep, є the sight of him. Without them, it’s not calm, and it won’t be until the first leaf. Everything is alive, radio and empty in homelessness to the fox, to the youth, to the roar, to the love.
Earth-mothers and all nature is wise, with a blissful smile spontaneously behind your children - soon, soon all the land will be called: there will be nests, there will be nests, you will see hollows in the trees, you will be blowing on the currents, waking up ... The brotherhood is foolish, hopelessly and very soulful to boil over, extinguish, distribute to the family and start a turbocharger about children and houses. In the light of the day to enter the frailty and all the troubles, the more important pride of triumph in the fools And leave the thin, ale wobbly foolish people, fantasized more with songs, and not with a lot of love, not with a lot of love, not a bird of a feather drowsy, In the veins of all living things, in the midst of trees, in the hearts of birds and beasts, flow, pounding, wandering juices and the roof of spring.
On the field vlіtku
Fun on the field, fun on the wide! Until the blue swamp of the distant forest, it’s as if it’s going to run along the humps of the pink color nivi. Khvilyuєtsya golden rye; draws in the bricks. Blue young oats; bilin quitucha buckwheat with red stalks, with white-horny, honey quotes. Curly peas were brought along the road, and behind them a black-green little lion with blakytnye very. On the other side of the road there are black fields before the ferry.
Zhayvoronok flutters over the rye, and the gostrokril eagle will be amazed at the height: to batter the wine and the shouting spike into a thick rye, to bash the wine and the bear to the bear, like it’s asleep in its hole with the grain, as it falls into the stigly ear. Hundreds of invisible bunks everywhere.
ranked exchanges
A chervone sonechko whirled to the sky and became the power of its golden exchange everywhere - to wake up the earth.
The first flight and after a meal on a zhayvoronka. Strepunuvsya zhayvoronok, vipurhnuv from the nest, growing high, high and drowning in his middle child: "Oh, how kind in a fresh rank meal! Yak garno!
Another promin 'having spent on a bunny. Having remixed the bunny in two vuhay and having merrily stricken along the rosian pockets: defeated in the dobuvati sob of juicy herbs on the snidanok.
After drinking the third meal in a kurnik. Having splashed with krills and filled up: ku-ku-ri-ku! Smoke evil from ours, zakudkudakav, began to develop smittya and worms shukati. After drinking a quarter at the wolves. Vipovzla bdzhilka from the wax cell, sat on the end of the road, the rules of the krill і - zoom-zoom-zoom! - flew to pick honey from spare kits.
After having spent some time in the child, on the lazhechko to the little lady: rіzhe right in the eyes, and wіn turned to another bіk and once again falling asleep.
Dostovsky Fedir Mikhailovich
I have come across a crescent moon in our village: a dry and clear day, a bit cold and wintry; let it end, and soon the need to go to Moscow will know nudguvati all winter for French lessons, and it’s so skoda to go to the village. I walked behind the current і, going down to, going to Losk - this is how the thick chagarnik named after us on the other side of the yar to the very grove. I’m all busy in my right, I’m busy: I’m grabbing a bitter whip, shmagati їm frogs; batogs from the leaves are so beautiful and so German, kudi against birch trees. Borrow less lumps and bugs, I їх pick, є are even more wobbly; I love maybe small, inverted, red-zhovtih lizards, with black tsyatki, ale of snakes I'm afraid. At the same time, the snakes are trailing on the back of the lakes. There are few mushrooms here, you need to go to the birch forest for mushrooms, and I'm going to get back. I am not so fond of anything in my life, as it is with mushrooms and wild berries, with lumps and birds, with lumps and little bites, from which I will love the sympathetic smell of twisted leaves.
dignity of Mikiti
(Urivki)
... The languor and the cake were satisfied. The birds were locked up, the flies became dull on the windows. Until the evening, the low sun was in the baking імлі. The day has come quickly. Bulo zovsіm dark - zhodnoї zirki. The arrow of the barometer was firmly injecting - "storm"; The first axis, in the dead silence, chirped, dully and gravely, the whirring noise at the rate, the shouts of the grakys flew over. The noise became all the way, less clean, and a strong porous wind at the reception of the acacia at the balcony, smelled in the door, brought in a splinter of dry leaf, blinking the fire in the frosted bottle of the lamp, flying in the air in the sound of the bell.
Here it’s buzzing, knocking or breaking the slope. The whole garden is now noisy, creaky stovbury, invisible peaks.
The first axis - a blue-blue loose light, opened up nothing, the tree was low on the black outlines. I know darkness. I grimaced, collapsing the whole sky. Over the noise, I don’t feel like they fell and dripped onto the slope. Klinuv boards - strong, bagaty, flow.
The smell of vologues, spili, reminiscent of the board and grass ...
Bezhin meadow
Buv a beautiful linden day, one quiet day, as only toddy trails, if the weather has risen for more. From the earliest wound, the sky is clear; rankova dawn does not burn with burning: it is filled with lagid blush. The dawn is fiery, not baked, like an hour of speculative dry land, like before a storm, like before a storm, a little light and pleasantly exchanged - peacefully pouring down from the vuzkoy and the foggy, lightly glistening The upper, thin edge of the elongated mark is covered with snakes; blisky to the blink of a wrought-iron medium ... Ale the axis they rushed to the exchanges, - both merrily, and majestically, the dummies are vicious, they may be flashing. By noon, it is easy to see a lackluster round, high-pitched gloom, golden-blue, with the lower, bile edges. Likewise, to the islands, which were spread out over the endlessly, the rychtsi were spreading, soaking them with deeply penetrating sleeves of torn blue, the stench may not be destroyed in the miss; distant, up to the sky, the stench sizzles, shrinks, blues between them do not bachiti; ale the stench itself is so azure itself, like the sky: the stench of everything is seemingly slick with light and warmth. sky-high, light, lily-lilious, does not change for the whole day and around the same; nowhere is it dark, but a thunderstorm is not thick; hiba de-no-de to stretch from the top to the bottom of the blakytny smog: then the ice of the dark planks sits. Until the evening, tsi khmari know; the rest of them, chornuvati and unimportant, like dim, kick with horny clubs navpaki of a prized dream; on the place, it went so quietly, as it quietly went to the sky, scarlet syayvo varto for a short hour over the dark earth, and, quietly, like a lightly carried little bell, to be sent off to the new evening of dawn. These days of the Farbi have everything in mind; light, but not bright; on everything bears the seal of how loudly lagidnost.
At such days, the heat of the boom is even stronger, and the heat is "shiryak"; on the gravels of the fields; Ale viter rozganiaє, rozsovu accumulated spec, і vichori-circularity - maddening sign of constant weather -Visogo bilimi stovpami walk along the roads through the іllu. Dry and clean smells of polynomial, grated rye, buckwheat; visit one year before night and do not see any. Podibnoy wait, bazhak hliborob for picking hlib ...
Lіtnіy linden wounds: the cost is oak wood and shine, chervonіє on the sun; still svizho, alas, see the closeness of specs.
The first thing is that the forest itself is good for a good autumn ... There is no noise, no light, no light, no noise, no noise; in the myaky povіtrі razlitiy ostіnnіy smell, similar to the smell of wine; a thin fog stands far away ... the earth is springy under the feet ...
In early summer, tear down in the forest, to the river, how to quietly change the trees.
Suggest about the hedgehog: take bread with you with butter. Sit down on a mossy beach, stretch out and throw yourself into the cold water.
Don't be afraid to get cold. Shine willpower. When you are bathing, you know you will see the place and lie down on the hot little son. Rob the whole day, and you will be healthy. And lіtnіy, lime wound! .. If you miss the wet bushes, you will be soaked in the warm smell of the night. Kryz thick bushes of the leaves, entangled with chilly grass, go down to the bottom of the yar. Exactly: before the shaving itself hide dzherelo ... You throw yourself on the ground, you got drunk, and you turn your hair around, You in tin, you see the smell of smelling vogkistyu; good to you ...
Lіtnіy vechіr
At the distant and the blue of the sky, little stars appeared only; at the entrance it is still chervonilo - there and the sky has grown clearer and clearer; pіvkolo mіsyatsya glittered in gold, a black net of weeping birch. Іnshі trees, or stood with frowning veletnami, squeezing swaying, at the sight of their eyes, or they were angry in the gloom of the community. Joden leaf is not bursting; the upper heads of the buzku and akats_y didn’t listen to them before, and they were playing in a warm meal. The little house is dark close by; With the plumes of red light, they painted on the new illumination of the day. Lagidny and quiet boulevard evening; ale of streams, shy podihivsya in the silence.
Thunderstorm in Lisy
Oleksiy Tolstoy
Ale scho tse? Vіter rapt attack і rush; povitra zdrignuvsya stake: chi not chi chi? You go out from the ravine ... what for the leaden darkness to the sky? Is there a sinter cake? Chmara chi puff up? There was a faint blink of light on the axis ... E, that thunderstorm! Around the sun more brightly: it is possible to love. Ale hmara grows; the front edge is knitted with a sleeve, for crypts. Grass, bushes, everything darkened with rapt ... Shvidshe! he, to be built, to be seen in a blue shed ... shvidshe ... You have finished, gone Yaky board? What are the bliskavki? Water dripped through the straw on the ground sino ... Ale the axis of the sun has already swallowed. The thunderstorm has passed; vi go. My God, I’m having fun all around, like it’s fresh and sweet, like it smells like mushrooms and mushrooms! ..
The sun, which had recently risen, flooded the whole guy with a strong, if not brightened with light; dewdrops glittered everywhere; everything dies with freshness, life and this innocent cleanliness of the first mitts of the wound, since everything is so bright and so mad. Just a little bit there was a lot of voices and voices of zhayvorons over the far-off fields, so in the very last two or three birds, who were coming, brought up their short colts, and the Germans heard it in the dark, as the price was lost in them. From the wet earth smelled healthy, mint smell, clean, light overflowing with cool streams.
The weather was miraculous, more beautiful, less earlier; ale of a speck all did not vgamovuvalas. Over the clear sky, ice-ice swept high і rіdkіsnі hmari, zhovtuvato-bіli, like spring recordings of snow, flat and dovgasti, like the winds went down. Їх vіzerunkovі edge, fluffy and light, like cotton papіr, generally, ale mabut snorted with skin mitty; the stink of tanuli, tsi hmari, and from them did not fall tini. Mi Dovgo wandered with Kasyan through the cross-sections. The young plots, who have not yet caught up with the arshins' vishyagnutsya, have recovered with their thin, smooth stems pochornilі, low pnі; round lip parts of growths with gray blooms, those growths themselves, from which vivary are rubbish, sticky to cich pniv; Sunnitsa let her wussiks on them: the mushrooms were sitting quietly in the same place. Legs steadily waddled and chilled in the grass, re-cut by the hot sun; everywhere rippled in the eyes of the sharp metal blisca of young, red leaves on the trees; everywhere there were blakytny men of "crane peas"; golden cups of "chicken slips"; podkudi, for those who left the roads, on which paths they began with swarms of chervona and other herbs, or purchases of firewood, which were darkened out to the ground and the board, folded in fathoms; A weak tin fell from them with oblique chotirikutniki, - the first tin did not bulo nowhere. A slight wonder now prokidav, then wowed: blow a rapt right into the face and start playing, - everything is fun to make a noise, nodding and moving around, graciously tinkering with the naughty little kids, the axis of ferns, - happy in the middle of the winter ... ... Some of the conics shake together, the dumb ones are embittered, - an uninterrupted, sour and dry sound. Win yde until the inaccessible bake of noon; win nemov populace їm, nemov wiklikaniy їm from baked earth.
And lіtnіy, lime wound! Who, krіm mislivtsya, viprobuvav, how to wander like wandering at dawn in the bushes? Green rice frog the slid of your nig on the rosian, beaten grass. If you miss the wet bushes, you will be soaked in the warm smell of the night; everything is like a fresh girkoy polina, honey buckwheat and "porridge" ;; in the distance of the wall there is an oak forest and shine and chervonin on the sun; still svizho, alas, see the closeness of specs. The head languidly swells away from the excess plowing. Chagarnik does not have a kint ... get far away, reaching the wheat, with vuzhny smugs, chervonin buckwheat. The axis was ripped viz; A man will make his way in crook, put zadalegіd kіn in tіn ... You clung to him, came out - the sonorous muddy mows the moon behind you ... The dream is everything and everything. Shvidko the grass is drying. The axis has already become hot. To pass the year, friend ... The sky is dark at the edges; prickly sintering dikhaє neruhome povitrya. "De b, brother, have you fed up here?"; -I feed the vee from the mower. "And he is in the yar krinitsya";.
Kryz thick bushes of the leaves, entangled with chilly grass, go down to the bottom of the yar. Exactly: under the very shave to hide dzherelo; oak bush greedily having thrown its knots over the water; large bulbs, goydayuchis, come from the bottom, covered with other oxamite moss. You throw yourself on the ground, you get drunk, and you will turn a little bit more. Vi in tіnі, in a dichaєte fragrant vogkіstu; good to you, but against you the booths will be fired up and the dumb ones will be on the dream. Ale scho tse? Vіter rapt attack і rush; povitrya zdrignuvsya stake: chi not chi chi? You go out from the ravine ... what for the leaden darkness to the sky? Is there a sinter cake? hmara chi puff up? .. Ale axis faintly flashed bliskavka ... E, that thunderstorm! Around it is still easy to light up the sun: it is possible to fall in love. Ale the gloom grows: the front and the edge of the sleeves, nahilyaєtsya crypts. Grass, bushes - everything darkened with raptom ... Shvidshe! He, to be built, to be seen in a blue shed ... shvidshe! We beat, escaped ... Yaky board? Yaki bliskavki? Water dripped through the straw on the ground sino ... Ale the axis of the sun was already swallowing. The thunderstorm has passed; vi go. My God, I’m having fun all around, like it’s fresh and sweet, like it smells like mushrooms and mushrooms! ..
Ale axis is now evening. Zorya burst into flame and coped with pivneba. Sonce sіdaє. Something close, like especially insight, dumb curses; in the distance frog soft steam, warm to the viglyad; at once with dew a chervonia blisk is falling on the Galavin, which has recently been doused with streams of rare gold; from the trees, from the bushes, from the tall stacks of trees, they were beaten by the trees ... Sonce silo; the glare froze and tremble at the sunset in the open sea ... The axis is out of the blue; blue sky; okremі tіnі know, overwhelmed with water. It's time to go to the house, to the village, to the hut, to sleep. Throwing a towel over the shoulders, you go quickly, unimpressed on the second ... for twenty crocs, nothing is visible; dogs ice bilyut at temryavi. The axis above the black bushes, the edge of the sky is vaguely clear. What is it? Pozhezha? .. Ні, tse go off a month.
Speka made us go to the guy. I rushed down a high bush of a leaf, above a young, stringy maple, having thrown my legendary heads.
Kasyan grabbed the horses of the chopped birch tree. I marveled at the new one. The leaves thrashed weakly in the top of the tree, and they quietly pushed back and forth along the top of the tree, so wrapped in a dark gray, by the little one. Winn’t getting a head. Having exhausted myself with a young man, I lay on my back and felt my peace of mind in a peaceful array of tangled leaves on the distant light sky. It’s wonderful for me to be busy lying on my back in the footsteps and wondering up the hill! You will be built, if you are looking at the endless sea, that it will spread out wide before you, that trees will not grow out of the earth, ale, the roots of the majestic dews are dumb, descend, fall straight into those glass, it is clear; Leaves on the trees sometimes smell with emeralds, then thicken in golden, black greens. Somehow far away, ending up with a thin gilka, it is uncomfortable to stand around a leaf on a blaky klaptik of the clear sky, and if you are instructed to hunt for it, you can use your ruff to hit a rough reach, as if it were ruff, it wouldn’t be done on its own. The charming underwater islands are quietly pouring and quietly passing through the round hmari, - the axis, the whole sea, the light in the morning, the dusts and leaves, drenched in a dream, - everything is jumbled, dripping lightly, it looks like The uninterrupted drink of the raptus filled the brijah. Vi do not collapse - see wonder; і it is not possible to rotate with words like it is radіnі ,і quietly, і malt on the heart. See wonder: that gliboka, pure blink of zbujє on your lips, a laugh, innocent, as you are, as you are in the sky, and as now with them, as low as they are, pass to the soul, happy, wait, and all of you are here, look your eyes distant and distant and pulling you behind yourself into that spokiyna, present without one, and unhappily seeing through the whole world, through the whole world ...
("Taras Bulba";)
... Step scho dalі, then I became short. Todi all the day, all that space ... up to the Black Sea was filled with green, uncrowded wilderness ... Nothing in nature could be more beautiful. The entire surface of the earth seemed like a green-golden ocean, as if a milion of young birds gleamed ... a spike of wheat poured into the thicket ... In the sky the hawkers stood unruly, spreading their krill and plunging their eyes into the grass unruly ... He was there at the temple and only to blink with one black point; he threw krill over there and flashed before the sun ... Devil take you, steppes, yak see! .. ";
Yak languid specotnі years, if midday is mid-quiet and special.
... Mustache has died; In the mountains only, in the heavenly glibines, tremble the lice, and the dream to fly after the descents to the zakhana land, that bright cry of a seagull or the sound of a quail's voice can be heard in the steppe. Line and soullessly, they walk without a breeze, stand on the floor, and the slumbering blows of the sleepy prominence will ignite a whole lot of malovnichi leaves, throwing it on the dark, as it is not, at least, when it’s strong, it’s golden. Smaragdi, topazi, yahonti efіrnyh comas sip over the stringy cities, ossiaanі old sleepyheads. The siri skirti sina and golden sheaves of khlib are crumpled in the field and wander through its invisibility. Nahilivshis from the wagy of the fruit wide gilki cherries, plums, apples, pears: the sky, the sky is purely a mirror-rychka in greenery, proudly raised frames.
lis make a noise
Volodymyr Galaktyonovich
Lis to make noise ...
At the end of the day, there was a noise - a raging, prolonged one, like a distant ringing, calm and sumny, like a quiet song without tears, like a fog about the past. At the new one, there was a noise, and that was just old, a dormant pine forest, like the saw and the head of the lice barishnik did not poke around. The high capital pines with red-colored cannabis stoves stood frowning at the rattan, shieldingly enclosed in the mountains by the green peaks. Downstairs it was quiet, it smelled of tar; across the back of the pine heads, the ground was whipped like a boole, the ferns were making their way, chimeras with a fringe, and stood unruffly, without moving a leaf. In the Sirikh cocks, the green grass stretched like tall stalks; the little gruel was wriggling with boiled heads, as if in a quiet znemozia. And in the mountains, without finishing and interrupting, pulling on the fossil noise, as if the confusion of the old forest.
Yaka buvaє dew on the grass
If in a sleepy wound, in a stream, in a forest, then in the fields, in the grass, you can see diamonds. All diamonds are worth shining and shimmering on dreamy colors - і zhovtim, і chervonim, і blue.
If it comes closer and closer, it’s like that, then it’s like a drop of dew picked up in three-piece leaves of grass and shine on the sun. A leaf of the whole herb in the middle of the volohaty and fluffy, like oxamite.
I dots roll on the leaf and do not wet it.
If the leaf is unprotectedly covered with dewdrop, then the speck will scramble, like a bag of light, and not poach, like a slug on the stem. Buvalo, zirvesh such a cup, slowly bring a dewdrop to the company and a dewdrop, and a dewdrop tsya tastier be-what kind of drink to be given.
rap'ah
I turned around the fields. Bula is the very middle of the lita. The meadows were tidied up and they were just going to mow the crop.
Є a charming pidbir of colores in a time of rock: chervony, bili, rozhev, zapashny, fluffy porridge ... milk-bili, with a yaskravo-zhovtoy middle "lyubish-ni-lyubish"; from your own spicy currant; zhovta rape with its wise smell; lilov and bili tulips-visible dvinochki stand high; popping peas; zhovtі, chervonі, rozhevі, lіlovі, akuratnі scabiosi; with three horny fluff and a delicate smell of plantain, hairs, bright blue on sleep and in youth and blaky and chervony in the evenings and old age; і nіzhni, with a flickering smell, it’s innocently v'yanuchі, quit birches.
I typed a great bunch of summer quotes and iss to the house, if I had wicked at the ditch of the monstrous raspberries, in the main color, turnips of that sort, which we call "Tatar"; and if they are hateful of mowing, if they are hateful of mowing, they will pick from the eyes of the mowing, and do not poke them on their hands. Me fell asleep on the thought of the zirvati tsei rep'yakh and put him in the middle of the bouquet. I crawled by the ditch, catching a bit of a bit of jmele in the middle of the ticket and falling asleep in the middle of the ticket, having smelled the ticket. It was a little more important: moreover, the stalk was thrashing from the whiskers, to wind through the jungle, like I had a sunburn of my hand, - I’m so terribly minded, I’m fighting against it, I’m getting sick, one at a time, ripping fibers. If I, nareshty, having pulled out a note, the stem is already all in lakhmitti, that letter is not yet so fresh and garnished. In addition, I was guilty for my brutality and lack of work not coming to the bottom of the bouquet. I pokhkoduvav, scho marno ruining the ticket, which buv is good in my mice, and I threw yo. "Yaka, however, is energy and the power of life," I thought, guessing the zusilla, with which I draw a card.
Yak vin is able to seize and sell his life dearly ";.
juveniles
Along the banks of the rychka, one to one bushes of currants, willows, willows and lisova raspberries were growing; green, sokovita sedge entered the water itself, shone and bent under the pressure of the rychkovy stream, as it is alive. The podkudi rotted and washed the logs from the ground, and for the sake of them the young honeysuckle pogoni were already cut; there and then there were funny little shots of Ivan tea and swampy people. Close to the old people pniv, like the road is unliving, a store-bought shopkeeper with his zhovty hats. At the very edge of the forest, a branch of young ossichnyak, shimmering on the sun with its own ruchomies, metal leaves, and far away with a green wall, birch forests and over the course of the course of a period of time, little trees from the field of zoru. All the more beautiful are the boules of the young and the birches, which grew up along the sides and down the halls: the stench looked like the yurba of children, from the wicked swing they vibrated at the steepness and the stars were milwaty all the way down. When it was building, it was good for the fox juveniles slyly whispering among themselves, happy on a sleepy day, and that only the youth was strong enough.
Lіtnі nights in the Urals
In the end of the summer nights in the Urals, there is especially garnie: from above, the bottomless blue glibine marvels at you, lightly stressed by phosphoric light, so that around the stars and the subtlety it seems to be destroyed in the dark light tone; It’s quite quiet and it’s easy to catch the best sound; sleep in foggy lis; nezvorushno, cost water; to see new birds and they appear and know in the caught wind soundlessly, like they are on the screen of the charming licher.
On the ear of a sickle
The first days of the sickle have come. There were two cold wounds, and the leaves did not catch the leaves of the screech, and the grass was covered with fresh beaches. The dream was already not so brightly shining from the blaky sky, it got up and kicked earlier; Some of the winds filled with unprecedented sounds, swaying the tops of the trees and glimmering brightly, overflowing the chilled string in the evening. The joys of the short summer season went to the end, before the end of the day, the endless autumn with anger, indignation, dark nights, pounding and coldness was pissed off. Mayzhe I spent the whole great hour at the fox, on the pole; The coniferous forest was more beautiful in the autumn and looked fresh in the skin day.
Mowing
It’s a beautiful summer day, since sleepy exchanges have long since lost some freshness, we went from my father to the so-called "little spice for me"; and take care of special suvorism. It was only as soon as they went to the footsteps of the yar, becoming a deaf, unseen noise that could be heard to my ear: sometimes urivchasty and worldly rustle, intermittently alternate and know the winery, then as the ringing of the metal. I energized at once: "Sho tse take?"; - "And the axis is poachish!"; - having called Batko, laugh. Ale behind the young and frequent ossichnyak shoots, nothing could be seen; if they were beaten by yogo, the divine species struck my eyes. Forty peasants were mowing Lyudin, looking in one line, yak on the thread; Yaskravo Vibliskuyuch on sontsi, zitali mows, and in strings rows the dense grass sprang up. Having passed the next row, the mowers zupinilsya raptom and felt the chimos of sharpening their mows, cheerfully flipping between themselves with hot slips, as it is possible to greet at the gutsy smile: it is rather unhappy to hear the words. Metallic sounds were blown out of the wood with wooden blades, covered with clay for a shot, for nothing I knew. If we came close and my dad said in an extravagant way: "God help me!"; for "God on help";, guchne: "Dyakuyu, father Oleksiy Stepanovich!" But I didn’t rattle, if they said to me, that it’s too important. A light twinkling, what a wonderful smell spreading from a nearby forest and mowing grass early on, as it boomed out a frantic picture, like a dream all the way through vidavati especially accepts a fragrant smell! The grass stood without a wall, hanging in the waist, and the villagers said: "What a grass! Vedm_d vedmedem! "; Jackdaws and crows were already walking behind the green, in the high rows of mown grass, and they raided the forest, they overcame the nests. and now they were running on the uvaz on the thrown stalk of the grows and on the bare ground. When you are closer, I have crossed over with my eyes, but it’s absolutely true. On the very few monsters, she got up already. ”From the beveled rows of my father, they scored a great bunch of such berries, among which there were a lot of bitter bitches;
grass sea
From the first crocus, wild grasses hunted us from our sides. The stench of the boule is so high and so thick, like the ludin, who stood by, having trampled in their place. Below, with your feet - grass, in front and behind - grass, from the sides - also grass, and only in the mountains - a blakitne sky. When I was building, I walked along the bottom of the grassy sea. The price of the hostility grew even stronger, if, having come to the yak-nebudu bush, I bawled, like a step, I swallowed. With ostrache and battles, I know I have broken the grass and the dal. It is so easy for tsikh mіstsyah to get lost, like in lіsі. The little ones were out of the way, but they immediately went to correct their mercy. Knowing how I love the bush, I went on it and looked forward to see it. Dersu hapav polin with his hands and brought it down to the ground. I marveled ahead - before me lay the endless grassy sea.
In lisі
Yes, all the distance is in the forest, in the bluish image, the sun rises in golden exchange. In the warm calmness of the forest, there is a quiet sound like a special noise, a light and anxious world. Squeak crossbills, tinkle tits, laugh the zozulya, whistle the volga, the jealous song of the chaffinch sounds incessantly, the wondrous bird - the schur - is thoughtfully sleeping. Smaragdovy toad chicks shave off with their feet; mіzh roots, having given a gold head, lie in the same guard. Klatsak bilka, in the paws of the pines to wink її plump hvist; bachish is namey rich, I want bachiti more and more, all the distance.
Nichna pozhezha in lisi
And in the night, the forest took in an unimportantly terrible, Kazkovian viglyad: the blue wall of yogi grew up, and in the glibinia, among the Chorny Stovburys, they noticed crazy, stricken hearts, volohatic beasts. The stench fell to the ground to the root of the і, lumped by the storms, the spriti maws climbed up the hill, fought one by one, lamayuchi gillya, whistling, buzzing and buzzing.
The figurines in the fires of the Black Stovburys, and the dance of the Tsikh figur, was unstoppable, in an unintelligible manner. The axis, without grabbing, thrown, thrown, wriggled at the knots of the ore wisdom, consuming the shmat of the fire, lise, as if for honey, along the stovbur up the hill, and when we reached the crowns, I wrap around them with gold wipes and wolves ; the zvir axis easily flips over onto a bush tree, and there, de vin bov, on the black, naked thumbs, they fired up in the bezel blakitny candles, purple mischiefs run over the bitches; the barks of the stovbura to whine, up and down, hundreds of fires in the fire.
Inodі vogon vipovzav from the lisu, stealthily, like a cat on a lily for a bird, and a rapt, pіdnyavshis face, looking around - how to shop? Abo the raptom buv blisky, half-minded wedd-vivsyanik and povz on the ground on the stomach, wide spreading paws, loading the grass into the majestic pashch.
Rіdnі mіstsya
I love the Meshchersky region for those who are beautiful, who want all of their belonging not to be revealed all at once, but even more often, step by step.
At first glance, the earth is quiet and uncomplicated under the unflattering sky. Ale chim more and more knowledge, more and more, more and more painful in the heart, started to love the unwitting land. If I have a chance to seize my land, then here in my heart I will be nobility, but I will seize a clap of the earth, which has brought me back to me, and intelligence is more beautiful, since it’s not too much to see it in love, - a lot of lice, pretensions do not forget, as nikoli do not forget the persha of love.
lіtnі menace
Lіtnі menace to pass over the earth and fall over the horizon. Bliskavki sometimes hit the ground with a direct blow, then flicker on black gloom.
Viblisku rainbow over siro dalu. Grim to move, gurkoche, grumble, gurkoche, crush the earth.
Litnya spec
There was a spec. We were covered with pine forests. Kapustians shouted. It smelled of pine bark and sunflower. Hawks hang over the tops of the pines. List buv stresses from specs. We were soaked in thick bowls of wasps and birches. There the smell of grass and roots smelled. Until the evening we went to the lake. The stars were shining in the sky. The pitching with an important whistle flew to nothing.
Zirnytsya ... The very sound of the word yak bi is transmitted to the general nichny blisk of far-flung.
Most of the greens are in lime trees, if the bread is ripening. To that, the people have grown up, when the seeds are "buried";
The mandate from bliskavitsyu to stand in the same poetical row is the word dawn - one of the most beautiful words of the Russian language.
Do not speak the word nikoli in a voice. You can't find your own, but you can shout out loud. To that, it’s so much like the weary silence of the night, if pure and weak blue is busy over the overgrowths of the silsky garden. "Develops"; as it seems about the time to do it in the people.
In the glow of the year, low over the land itself, the rankova zirka has fallen. It’s clean, like dzherelnaya water.
At dawn, in the family, I am a dear, precious. At dawn, the grass is omitted with dew, and in the villages we smell of warm young milk. I sleep in the fogs outside the shepherd's zhalyka.
Svita shvidko. The warm hut has quiet, darkness. Ale the axis on the chopped wall kicks the squares of the orange light, and the logs light up, like a sharuvatiy burshtin. Go to the sun.
Zorya buvaє is not just a rank, ale and an evening. We often have two mischievous witnesses - zaid son and vechirnyu dawn.
Evening dawn is to be repaired, if the sun has already gone over the edge of the earth. Todi vona opanovuє dimming sky, bottling on a new without lich farb - from red gold to bryuzi - and occasionally go into every day and into the night.
Screaming derkachi in the bushes, b'yut quail, bugay buzzing, burning first glimpses, and the dawn is still dying over the distance and fogs.
kviti
Bilya vodi in great curtains looked out from the thicket of my innocent blakitnooki forget-me-nots. And the distance, behind the dangling loops of life, bloomed along the shilia of a wild gorobin with tight, jovty sutsvitty. The high-pitched chervona of the stable was mixed with the bee peas and the bedstraw, and the Velet's thistle thistle was taken over by the foodstuffs. Vin mitsno standing up to his waist at the grass and similar to the face in armor with steel spikes on the plates and knee-pads.
Heat up over the quotations of "mliv"; when you go, you can see the dark skin of the jmelya, bjoli, or the axis. Yak bili and lemon leaves, seemingly, littered panicles.
And even further away with a high style, there was a glid and a ship. Gilki їkh so intertwined, so he was well, not a few in the fires of the ship and the bile, the scent of a miracle, the glory of a miracle was released on one and the same booth.
Shipshina standing, turning in great quotes until the sun, staggering, calling svyatkovy, covering the bezel-less hospitality of the buds. The color of the day was scattered over the shortest nights - our Russian, three-year-old nights, if the nighttime grimaces in the dew all without interruption, the green light cannot be seen from the horizon;
Blessed board
On the cob of a worm, they often went unwittingly for lita boards: quiet, in an ossinny summit, without thunderstorms, without winters. Vrantzi from the approach, from behind the distant humps, vilazila poplyasto-blue-gray chmara. Vona grew, widened, took over the pivneba, - ominously dark and dark, and at the same time, it went down like that, like a serpentine, the lower plastic ones stood behind the trees in the steppe, on the mounds; Here, high and good-naturedly, in the last sensitive octave, we moved the time, and descended the grace-filled board.
Warm, dumb breezes of fresh milk, droplets fell straight into the misty quiet earth, swelled like bulbs on the dried out dusty kalyuzh. І such a quiet and peaceful buv tsei lіtnіy sparse planks, so that quits didn’t wipe their heads, wind smokes in the yards that didn’t sound like ukrittya. The stinking stink of the stench was filled with bile of sheds and vologues, pochornilich tins in the poop, and the wet and slightly lost their size to the food, indifferently on the boards, shouted in a stretch and in the wicked. The bad'ori voices were angry with the flowers, they bathed themselves without a mess in the kalyuzhs of virobes and the squeak of lasters, as if they fell in a quick sweat until they smelled like a board and a saw, tenderly gripping the earth.
In the steppe of the feasts there is a new colina. Behind the vigon zatsviv burkun. The smell of honey roasted all over the farm until evening. Ozimi khlib stood up to the horizon with a dark green wall, brightly gladdened the eye with friendly gatherings. The seropes were thickly nagged by the shooters of the young pagones of the corn, Until the end of the first half of the worm, the weather had risen mintly, the churns did not appear in the sky, and it was marvelously painted over with the sun, the quitucha, surrounded by the planks of the steppe! Bula won now, like a young mother, well, she is innocently beautiful, has quieted down, is tired, and everything is beautiful, happy and pure laugh of motherhood.
Doschik in lisi
There was a great dark gloom, she covered the pivneba. Grimoin.
A strong whirlwind swept along the lisy tops. The trees began to rustle, they circled the leaves over the stitch. The important drops fell. Bliskavka blinked, hitting gram.
Draping behind the dots, splashing the warm, pouring planks.
The dripping board smelled strongly of mushrooms in the fox. Grass has a stitch with boletus mushrooms, wet syroozhki, red fly agarics. Nemov is a little lads, to go black-headed pidberezniki.
There are densely growing young parts of the birch birch tree between bili birches. Here you can find stocked lumps and worm-heads.
And on the fossil galyavins there appeared the first Riga, the golden chanterelles.
a little bit later
In the distance there was a dull sound - the dark majes were taken to the village. The stench has risen by and large, terribly clumpy and proprietary to the very horizon.
It became dark and nimo in the village. The navit cattle quieted down in the cleanup. I raptom deafening gurkit strumonuv the ground.
Doors and gates splashed all over the village. People vibrated on the street, put cebri on the streams and on the pouring board, they were happily talking one by one. On kalyuzh, like a horse, barefoot ditlahs were worn, after a short summer.
cake
Serpnya is dry. I gave the spec. The vrants didn’t get caught up in the dim dew, the streaks and the little dew dried up, and the leaves wandered on the trees until noon. At the specotny, to the white baked child, for days on end, a pea-gray buzzard was milling about, crying piercingly and sadly:
"Pi-it! .. Pi-it! .."; Skіnchilosya lito.
A short period of time.
On the home pine forest, there was a little red wine, which did not wither. In the first snow, if you pass through the dark autumn fog, the little one will migrate to the remote seasons, to the lalin cone.
Fog, fog over the village of Nache bily khmari descended to the ground, but milk spills poured out at the end.
Until noon, the fog settles, the virgin sun is not too good, and there are more cranes in the sky. We look like a wedge to fly, sad and pitiful Kurlik, not vibrating: mi, moving, in the warm land you see it, and then there is Kuwati.