Does a child need to “wean to be greedy”?

I think that what is most often mistaken for children's greed (protection of their boundaries, their toys) is the child's natural desire for "self", for finding himself through "their" things, "their" toys, "their" mom and dad . This is a natural stage of growing up, and weaning will not only be superfluous, but also harmful.

These same stories rather show the baby what it is in general - real greed. What is true wealth. What is the difference between greed and a sense of ownership and when being greedy is not interesting and not good.

If you have similar fairy tales or stories in your "piggy bank" - send them to or write in the comments. Other parents will thank you!

*Stories about greed collected by Tamara Lombina - hMember of the Union of Writers of Russia, candidate of psychological sciences.

==1==
Japanese fairy tale

A poor man and a rich man lived in the same village. The rich man had a lot of money.

Once a rich man called a poor man to his place. The poor man thinks: “No way, he decided to give me a present. That's why he's calling." Came and says:

What a blessing it is to have so much money!

- Why are you, - the rich man answers, - what happiness is this! I thought that the richest person in our village is you! You have two whole wealth: the first is health, the second is children. And I only have money. What kind of rich am I?

The poor man listened, listened, and he thinks: “And it’s true, I’m not so poor.” And he went home - to tell the old woman about everything. The old woman just threw up her hands.

“But didn’t you, old man, know that the greatest happiness is children and health?”

“We have lived our lives happily,” the old people decided.

- Here we are with you, what rich people, we gave gifts to all the kids! - the old man and the old woman rejoiced.

Since then they have been nicknamed poor rich in the village.

==2==
Greed.
Afghan fairy tale

There lived a very rich man. But he was so greedy that even he spared bread for himself.

One day someone invited him to visit. The rich man went. The owner of the house served many different dishes, and the guest began to eat.

At first he tried the meat and ate a lot of it, because it was spicy, tasty and he liked the passion. Then they served some kind of flour dish, which melted in the mouth. The miser also ate it. Then came the turn of eggs and noodles.

Whatever was on the table, the rich man paid tribute to everything.

After dinner, the host served various fruits - apricots, melons, grapes, pears. The miser looked at them with hungry eyes, as if he had never seen such things in his life. In the end, he ate all the fruits as well.

After he filled his stomach with hot and cold, he wanted to drink.

The rich man barely had time to pour glasses. He drank so much that his stomach was swollen - it was about to burst. With the last of his strength, with great difficulty, the miser dragged himself home.

After a while, he became very ill.

Frightened at home:

“But he looks like he’s going to die.” Run for the doctor.

- Haven't you eaten yet? the doctor asks.

“Yes,” replied the rich man, “I was visiting and had a good meal there.

– What have you done?! the doctor exclaimed. - The food is someone else's, but the stomach is your own!

- Yes it is. But there were so many treats and everything was so delicious!

Is it conceivable to refuse a tasty and free lunch!

- All right, - the doctor grinned, - what happened, then passed. Now you need to take a medicine that will extract excess food from you.

“Oh no, I don’t want such a medicine!” Now, if you find a medicine that improves digestion, come on! And if not, it’s okay, on a full stomach it’s easier to die. And no other harm will come to me. You are free, go to yourself.

==3==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Cutlet - like a stone

It was in a difficult year, immediately after the war.

Today the third grade is going to the forest. Maria Nikolaevna appointed a collection at school. Everyone arrived before sunrise.

Everyone has a bag of food - bread, onions, boiled potatoes, and some guys even have lard. The children laid out all the contents of their bags, wrapped them in a large sheet of paper and put them in a duffel bag. The children decided: we are one team, one family, why should everyone sit over their bundle?

Lenya also put his piece of bread, a few potatoes and a pinch of salt into the duffel bag. But in the pocket there was a bundle with a cutlet. The mother wrapped it in paper and said: eat it so that no one sees it.

Children played in the forest, read a book, told stories around the fire.

Then they laid out all the supplies on a large tablecloth and sat down to dinner. Next to Lenya sat Maya, a thin, white-haired girl. Her father died at the front - on the last day of the war. Each got a small piece of lard. Maya cut her piece in half and gave half to Lena.

It seemed to the boy that in his pocket it was not a cutlet wrapped in paper, but a stone.

When the children had dinner, Maria Nikolaevna said:

- Children, collect the paper and burn it.

When the paper was collected and folded into a pile, Lenya imperceptibly threw his bundle with a cutlet into the trash.

==4==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Greedy boy

There lived a very greedy boy in the world. He walks down the street, sees ice cream being sold. The boy became and thinks: “If someone gave me a hundred servings of ice cream, that would be good.”

Suitable for school. In a quiet deserted lane, a gray-haired grandfather suddenly catches up with him and asks:

“Did you want a hundred servings of ice cream?”

The boy was surprised. Hiding his confusion, he said:

- Yes ... If someone would give money ...

“We don’t need money,” Grandpa said. “There’s a hundred servings of ice cream behind that willow tree.

Grandfather disappeared, as he was not there. The boy looked behind the willow and, in surprise, even dropped his briefcase with books to the ground. There was an ice cream box under the tree. The boy quickly counted a hundred bundles wrapped in silver paper.

The boy's hands shook with greed. He ate one, another, a third serving. He couldn't eat anymore, his stomach hurt.

- What to do? the boy thinks.

He took the books out of his briefcase and threw them under the willow. He stuffed his briefcase with shiny parcels. But they didn't fit in the briefcase. It was so pitiful to leave them that the boy cried. Sits near the willow and cries.

Ate two more servings. Wandered to school.

I went into the classroom, put the briefcase, and the ice cream began to melt. Milk flowed from the briefcase.

A thought flashed through the boy: maybe give ice cream to his comrades? This thought was driven away by greed: is it possible to give such good to someone?

The boy is sitting over the briefcase, and it is flowing from it. And the greedy boy thinks: will such wealth really perish?

Let the one who has somewhere in his soul settled a small worm - greed - think about this fairy tale. This is a very scary worm.

==5==
Two greedy bear cubs.
Hungarian fairy tale

On the other side of the glass mountains, beyond the silken meadow, stood an untravelled, unprecedented dense forest. In this untravelled, unprecedented dense forest, in its very thicket, lived an old she-bear. She had two sons. When the cubs grew up, they decided that they would go around the world in search of happiness.

At first they went to their mother and, as expected, said goodbye to her. The old bear hugged her sons and ordered them never to part with each other.

The cubs promised to fulfill their mother's order and set off on their way.

They walked, they walked. And the day went on and the next went. Finally, they ran out of supplies. The cubs are hungry. Downcast, they wandered side by side.

- Oh, brother, how I want to eat! the younger complained.

- And I want to! the elder said.

So they all walked and walked, and suddenly they found a large round head of cheese. They wanted to share it equally, but failed. Greed overcame the cubs: each was afraid that the other would get more.

They argued, growled, and suddenly a fox approached them. What are you arguing about, young people? the fox asked.

The cubs told her about their trouble.

– What same this trouble! - said the fox. - Let me divide the cheese equally for you: it’s all the same to me that the youngest, that the eldest.

- That's good, - the cubs were delighted. - Delhi!

The fox took the cheese and broke it into two pieces. But she split the head so that one piece - it was even visible to the eye - was larger than the other.

The cubs screamed:

- This one is bigger!

The fox reassured them:

“Hush, young people! And this is not a problem. Now I'll take care of everything.

She took a good bite out of most of it and swallowed it. Now the smaller piece is bigger.

- And so uneven! The bear cubs are worried.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the fox. - I know my stuff!

And she took a bite out of most of it. Now the larger piece has become smaller.

- And so uneven! the cubs screamed.

- Yes, you will! - said the fox, moving his tongue with difficulty, as his mouth was full of delicious cheese. Just a little more and it will be even.

The fox continued to share the cheese.

And the cubs only with black noses led back and forth, back and forth - from a larger piece to a smaller one, from a smaller one to a larger one.

Until the fox was full, she divided and divided everything.

But now the pieces were equal, and the cubs almost had no cheese left: two tiny pieces.

“Well, then,” said the fox, “albeit little by little, but equally equally!” Bon appetit, bear cubs! - and wagging her tail, she ran away.

So it is with those who are greedy!

==6==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Plowman and Mole

The plowman plowed the land. The Mole crawled out of his hole and was surprised: a large field had already been plowed, and the Plowman still plows and plows. The Mole decided to see how much land the Man had plowed. The Mole went across the plowed field. He walked until evening, but did not reach the end of the field. Returned to the hole. In the morning I got out of the hole, sat down on the road, waiting for the Plowman with a plow to ask him:

- Why did you plow such a large field and continue to plow more?

The plowman answers:

- I plow not only for myself, but also for people.

Mole was surprised:

Why are you plowing people? Let everyone work for themselves. So I dig a hole for myself, and every Mole digs a hole for himself too.

“But you are moles, we are people,” answered the Plowman and began a new furrow.

==7==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Metal ruble

Tato gave Andreika a metal ruble and said:

- When you return from school, you will go to the store and buy sugar and butter.

Andrey put the ruble in his jacket pocket and forgot about it. At the gym class, he undressed and threw his jacket on the grass.

After the lessons I remembered: I must go to the store. He put his hand in his pocket, but there was no ruble. Andreika was frightened, turned pale and stands, unable to utter a word. Guys ask:

- What's the matter with you, Andrey?

The boy told about his trouble. The comrades knew that Andreika's father was stern and would beat the boy.

“Let's help Andreika,” Tanya said. Who has money, let's go.

Let's collect the ruble!

Each reached into his pocket. Who found ten, who fifteen, who found five kopecks. Stepan alone said:

- You have to save money. He lost himself - let him think what to do. I won't give you a dime.

He turned his back on everyone and went home.

The guys counted the collected money - ninety-nine kopecks. We all went to the store together, bought sugar and butter.

Joyful Andrey returned home.

The next day no one wanted to sit next to Stepan. He was left alone.

Stepan complained to the teacher.

Why doesn't anyone want to sit with me?

“Ask your friends,” the teacher replied.

==8==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Mishin bike

Misha bought a bicycle. And he lives near the school. There is a garden between his parents' house and the school estate, so there is nowhere to go. Misha brought his bike to school like a horse on a bridle.

The boys surrounded Misha. They felt the wheels, pedals, steering wheel, flashlight.

Everyone liked the bike. Everyone envied Misha.

“Well, go for a ride,” Fedya said, and stepped away from the bike, as if he didn’t even want to ride.

Do you think I really want to ride it? Misha asked indifferently. - Take it, try it.

Joyful Fedya took the wheel, got on a bicycle and rode around the school stadium. Ride until the call to the lesson.

Ivan rode at the first break, Stepan at the second, Sergey at the third, Olya at the fourth.

We stayed to ride after school. The bike changed hands. By four o'clock all rolled.

Misha brought the bike home at half past four, like a horse on a bridle.

Where have you been riding so far? Mom was surprised. – Is it possible?

And I didn't ride...

- How - did not ride?

- The boys rode ... And the girls ...

Mom breathed a sigh of relief and said, as if to herself:

- The only thing I was afraid of was that you would ride alone.

==9==
Vasily Sukhomlinsky.
Apple in the autumn garden

In late autumn, little sisters Olya and Nina were walking in the apple orchard. It was a quiet sunny day. Almost all the leaves from the apple trees fell off and quietly rustled underfoot. Only in some places on the trees there were yellowed leaves.

The girls approached a large apple tree. Next to the yellow leaf, they saw a large red apple.

Olya and Nina screamed with joy.

- How was it preserved? Olya was surprised.

“Now we’ll rip it off,” Nina said.

The girls plucked an apple. Olya wanted the apple to go to her, but she restrained herself and suggested:

- Let yours be an apple, Nina.

Nina also wanted the apple to be hers, but Nina also said:

- Let yours be an apple, Olya ...

The apple passed from hand to hand. But it occurred to them both

thought:

Let's give the apple to mom.

They ran to their mother joyful, excited. They gave her an apple.

Joy shone in the mother's eyes.

Mom cut the apple and gave the girls a half.

>>

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If you ask parents how they would like to see their children, the vast majority will answer - kind. Education helps reading good books.

Reading preschoolers and first graders can read on their own. But in any case, we advise you to discuss the content of the stories with the child in order to make sure that the author’s thoughts are understood adequately.

We present a selection of short stories for children by Vasily Sukhomlinsky. He is known as a teacher. But Vasily Alexandrovich, apart from scientific papers wrote stories for children. These little stories tell about the best human qualities: kindness, justice, gratitude.

Short stories for children by V. Sukhomlinsky

Beautiful words and beautiful deeds

There is a small hut in the middle of the field. It was built so that in bad weather people could hide and stay warm.

Once, in the middle of a summer day, clouds covered the sky, it began to rain. There were three boys in the forest at that time. They hid in time from the rain and watched how streams of water poured from the sky.

Suddenly they saw: a boy of ten years old was running towards the hut. They did not know him, the boy was from a neighboring village. He was soaked to the skin and shivering with cold.

And now the oldest of those who ran away from the rain and sat in dry clothes said:

“How bad it is that you, boy, got caught in the rain. I feel sorry for you…

The second boy also uttered beautiful and pitiful words.

- It must be scary to find yourself in such weather in the middle of the field. I feel for you boy...

The third one didn't say a word. He silently took off his shirt and gave it to the boy who was shivering from the cold.

Beautiful words are not beautiful. Beautiful beautiful things.

Ingratitude

Grandfather Andrey invited his grandson Matvey to visit. The grandfather put a large bowl of honey in front of his grandson, put white rolls, invites:

- Eat, Matveyka, honey. If you want - eat honey with kalachi with a spoon, if you want - kalachi with honey.

Matvey ate honey with rolls, then - rolls with honey. I ate so much that it became difficult to breathe. He wiped his sweat, sighed and asked:

- Tell me, please, grandfather, what kind of honey is it - lime or buckwheat?

- And what? - Grandfather Andrei was surprised. - I treated you with buckwheat honey, granddaughters.

- Linden honey is still tastier, - said Matvey and yawned: after a plentiful meal, he was sleepy.

Pain squeezed the heart of grandfather Andrei. He was silent. And the grandson continued to ask:

- And the flour for rolls - from spring or winter wheat? Grandfather Andrei turned pale. His heart clenched with unbearable pain.

It became hard to breathe. He closed his eyes and groaned.

Say hello to a person

A father and a little son are walking along a forest path. There is silence around, only you can hear a woodpecker knocking somewhere in the distance and a stream murmuring in the wilderness.

Suddenly, the son saw: a grandmother with a wand was walking towards them.

Father, where is Grandma going? the son asked.

“To see, meet or see off,” answered the father. “When we meet her, we will say hello to her,” said the father.

Why would she say that word? the son was surprised. “We are total strangers.

- But let's meet, say "hello" to her, then you'll see what for.

Here is the grandmother.

"Hello," said the son.

“Hello,” said the father.

“Hello,” Grandma said and smiled.

And the son was surprised to see that everything around had changed. The sun shone brighter. A light breeze ran through the tops of the trees, the leaves began to play, fluttered. Birds sang in the bushes - before that they had not been heard.

The boy's heart was filled with joy.

– Why is it so? the son asked.

“Because we said hello to the man and he smiled.

Why say "thank you"?

Two people were walking along the forest road - grandfather and a boy. It was hot, they wanted to drink.

The travelers came to a stream. Cool water gurgled softly. They leaned over and got drunk.

“Thank you, stream,” Grandpa said. The boy laughed.

- Why did you say "thank you" to the stream? he asked his grandfather. - After all, the stream is not alive, will not hear your words, will not understand your gratitude.

- This is true. If the wolf got drunk, he would not say “thank you”. And we are not wolves, we are people. Do you know why a person says "thank you"?

Think who needs this word?

The boy thought. He had plenty of time. The road was long...

It's hard to be human

The children were returning from the forest, where they spent the whole day. The way home lay through a small farm, which is located in the valley, a few kilometers from the village. Tired children barely reached the farm. They looked into the last hut to ask for water.

A woman came out of the hut, a little boy ran after her. The woman took water from the well, put the bucket on the table in the middle of the yard, and herself went into the hut. The children drank water and rested on the grass. Where did the forces come from!

When they moved a kilometer away from the farm, Mariyka remembered:

“But we didn’t thank the woman for the water. Her eyes became worried.

The children stopped. In fact, they forgot to thank.

“Well…” said Roman, “it’s a bit of a problem. The woman has already forgotten. Is it worth it to come back because of such a trifle?

“It’s worth it,” Mariyka said. - Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself, Roman?

Roman chuckled. It was clear that he was not ashamed.

“As you wish,” said Mariyka, “and I will return and thank the woman…”

- Why? Well, tell me, why is it necessary to do this? – Roman asked… – After all, we are so tired…

Because we are human...

She turned and walked towards the farm. Everyone followed her. Roman stood for a moment on the road and, sighing, went along with everyone.

“It’s hard to be human…” he thought.

How Andreika transported Nina

Andreika and Nina were returning from school. On their way there was a ravine.The sun warmed, the snow melted, and water ran in the ravine.

Noisy in the ravine raging brook. Andreyka and Nina are standing in front of the brook.

Andrey quickly crossed the stream and stood on the opposite bank. The boy looked at Nina, and he felt ashamed. After all, he is in boots, and Nina is in shoes. How will she pass?

“Oh, how badly I did,” Andrey thought. “Why didn’t I immediately see that Nina was wearing shoes?”

The boy came back, went up to Nina and said:

- I wanted to know if it was deep. After all, we'll be traveling together.

- How? Nina was surprised. - I'm wearing shoes.

“Sit on my back,” Andrey said. Nina sat Andreyka onback, and the boy moved her.

Not lost, but found

When the son was ten years old, his father gave him a new shovel and said:
- Go, son, into the field, measure a plot of a hundred steps along and a hundred across and dig it up.
The son went into the field, measured the area and began to dig. He just didn't know how to do it. It was difficult at first, until I learned to dig and adapted to the shovel.
By the end, the work went better, more fun. That's almost the end of the matter. The son stuck a shovel into the ground, and the shovel broke.
The son returned home, but his heart is sad: what will the father say for a broken shovel?
“Forgive me, father,” said the son. - I dug up almost the entire area, but I broke the shovel.
- Did you learn to dig?
- Learned.
– And was it difficult for you to dig at the end or was it easy?
“It was easier at the end than at the beginning.
So you didn't lose, you found.
What did I find, father?
- Ability to work. This is the most valuable find.

Little Petrik walked along the path through the garden. He sees a black shaggy dog ​​running towards him.Petrik was frightened and wanted to run away. But suddenly a small kitten snuggled up to his feet. He ran away from the dog and asked Petrik: protect me, boy, from this terrible beast.

Petrik is standing, looking at the kitten, and he raised his head to the boy and meows plaintively. Petrik felt ashamed in front of the kitten. He took him in his arms and walked towards the dog. The dog stopped, looked fearfully at the boy, and hid in the bushes.

One day, little Fedya and his mother went to the field to dig potatoes.
- You are eight years old, - says the mother, - it's time to work for real. Mother digs up a bush, and Fedya chooses potatoes from the hole and throws them into the bucket.
Fedya doesn't want to work. He collects potatoes, which is on top, but does not want to dig in the ground. I left potatoes under one bush, under another. Mother noticed such work and says:
- Aren't you ashamed? Man looks and sees everything!

Fedya looked around and was surprised:
- Where is this Man? What does he see?
- In you, Fedya, Man. He sees everything. He notices everything, and only you do not always listen to what he tells you. Here, listen to his voice, he will tell you how you work.
- And where is he in me - Man? Fedya is surprised.
“In your head, in your chest, in your heart,” your mother prompts.
Fedya went to another bush, picked up the potatoes that lay on top. I was about to leave him, when suddenly, as if someone were really reproaching: what are you doing, Fedya? Dig, there are still potatoes in the ground. Fedya was surprised and looked around. There is no one, but as if someone looks at his work and shames him.
“And in fact, after all, the Man sees my work,” Fedya thought, sighed, raked the ground near the dug up bush and found a few more potatoes.
It became easier on the soul of Fedya. He even sang a funny song.
He works for an hour, works for another, and is more and more surprised. He thinks a little: “Why dig so deep, probably there are no potatoes anymore,” and then someone overhears his thought. And Fedya becomes ashamed. But also joyful, oh, how joyful. “This is a good friend - a Man,” Fedya thinks.

lazy pillow

Little Irinka needs to get up early, in Kindergarten go - but you don’t want to, oh, how you don’t want to.
In the evening Irinka asks:
- Grandpa, why don't you want to get up in the morning? Teach me how to sleep so that I want to get up and go to the kindergarten.
“It’s your lazy pillow,” says grandfather.
- And what can she do to not be so lazy?
“I know a secret,” grandfather whispers. - Just then, when you don’t want to get up, take a pillow, take it out into the fresh air and beat it well with your fists - it won’t be lazy.
- Indeed? - Irina was delighted. - I'll do that tomorrow.
It's not light yet, it's not dawn yet, but we need to get ready for the garden. I don't want to get up Irinka, but after all, you finally need to teach the pillow a lesson, too lazy to beat it out of it.
Irinka grabbed it, quickly dressed, took a pillow, carried it out into the yard, put it on a bench, and with her fists, fists.
I returned home, put a pillow on the bed and let's wash.
The cat meows downstairs, the wind hums behind the wall, the grandfather grins with a mustache.

I'm sorry kids I'm late

It was a cold morning. Snowflakes fell. A cold wind blew from the north.
We arrived at the school at dawn. The class was warm. We took off our shoes and warmed our feet by the stove.
The bell rang. We sat down. A minute passed, then another. There was no teacher. We sent Nina - she is the class leader: go to the teacher's room, find out why there is no teacher.
A minute later, Nina returned and said:
- Ivan Petrovich fell ill. The director told us to go home.
- Hooray! we all shouted with unspeakable joy. – Hurrah!.. There will be no lessons!.. The teacher fell ill.
Suddenly the door opened and Ivan Petrovich entered the classroom. Snow-covered, weary. We froze in surprise. Sit down with your head bowed.
Ivan Petrovich went up to the table.
"I'm sorry kids," he said softly. I got a little sick, but still decided to go to school. A bit late...
He undressed right there in the classroom. He sat down at the table and looked at us.
And we were ashamed to raise our eyes ...

Father and Son

There lived a mother, father and son. The son was not yet a year old when his father left his mother. He left and left secretly, without saying where he was going and why.

The mother and son were left alone. It was not easy for the mother. Early in the morning she took her son to the nursery, and she herself went to work.

The son grew up. His mother no longer took him, but took him not to a nursery, to a kindergarten. The son learned that other children have not only a mother, but also a father. This discovery struck a child's soul. The little son asked his mother:

Why do other children have fathers and we don't? The guys say that without a father it is impossible to be born ... Is this true?

Yes, you can't be born without a father.

“So we had a father?”

Yes, we had a father. He left us...

- Why did he leave?

He doesn't love us, that's why he left...

“What do you mean he doesn’t love you?” the son asked. Mother explained it as well as she could; the three-year-old boy did not understand everything, and his mother said:

- Grow up a little - you will understand ... Another year has passed, the second. A five-year-old son asks his mother:

- Mom, did our father love himself?

He loved himself even less than us. He not only did not love himself, but he did not respect himself ...

What does it mean to respect yourself?

The mother tried to explain, but the five-year-old boy could not yet understand such complex things.

A year has passed, two years have passed. A seven-year-old son asks his mother:

“Mom, what does it mean to respect yourself?”

“It means leaving yourself on earth in your children. Who does not want to leave himself in his children - he does not want to be a man.

“But didn’t he, the father, understand this? asked the astonished son.

He will understand this only in his old age.

When the son was 7 years old, his mother got married. Left alone with her son, the mother said to him:

This man loves me and I love him. If he loves you and you love him, maybe you will become his son and he your father. In the meantime, do not call him either father or uncle - it is not good. Just refer to him as "you".

Mother's second husband was a kind, warm-hearted man. But the boy did not open up to him, because he did not believe him. “If the person without whom I could not have been born did not become my father, then how can a stranger become a father?” thought the boy, and these thoughts made him feel bad.

The son got sick. Days and nights he lay in oblivion, and only occasionally consciousness returned to him. One night he felt better, opened his eyes and saw his stepfather in front of him. The man held his weak hand in his hand and cried ... The boy closed his eyes, he wanted these moments to last forever. The minute came, the second, the third. The boy's heart fluttered with happiness: a man caresses his hand. He felt: the man wants him to get well. The boy could no longer lie with his eyes closed, he opened his eyes, smiled and said:

"I'll call you Father, okay?"

Several years passed, and a terrible grief fell upon the happy family: an incurable illness chained the mother to bed. For ten years she was ill, and all these years her husband and son took care of her. When the son was 23 years old, his mother died. The son got married. He himself had a son. The stepfather became an old, weak man. His son loved him passionately and devotedly. Dinner never began in the family without him, not a single business was decided without his advice.

And then one day, when the family was having dinner, someone knocked on the hut. An old man entered.

— Do you recognize me?

- No, I don't know.

- I'm your father.

The son remembered everything. He replied:

— Here is my Father... And you are just an old man for me.

“But you are my blood son,” the old man pleaded. - Shelter me.

“Very well, live with us,” said the son. “But I can neither love, nor respect you, nor call you a father.

So they live in big house, among apple trees and cherries. On warm summer days, the family sits at a table in the garden. Lively conversation, laughter is heard. And the old man is sitting in his room by the window and, bowing his gray head, is crying.

Mom's braid is the most beautiful

Every evening, seven-year-old Tarasik met his father, who returned from work. These were joyful moments: dad opened the door, Tarasik ran to meet him, dad took his son in his arms. Mother smiled as she prepared dinner.

One day, Tarasik, coming home from school, saw his mother sitting by the window, thoughtful and sad.

Why are you sad, mom? asked an alarmed Tarasik.

“Dad won’t come to visit us again.

- How - will not come? the child was surprised. — Where will he go?

The mind of the child did not fit, what does it mean for the father not to come home ...

Mom said:

He will no longer live with us. Well... he came by today and got his stuff. He went to another woman...

- Why? cried Tarasik. Why did he go to another woman?

The mother was confused. She frantically searched for something to say to her son. And she said what came to mind:

“Because I have a gray braid... But this woman has a gray braid…”

Tarasik began to cry, hugged his mother, stroked his mother's black braid with a small hand, in which gray hairs shone. Then he said quietly:

“But it’s your braid, mother… your braid is the most beautiful… Doesn’t dad understand this?”

- He doesn't understand, son.

Then something happened that the mother did not think about, saying the words about her gray braid. The boy found out where the woman, to whom his father had gone, lives. He went to this woman. The woman was at home. The boy approached her, carefully looked at her hairstyle and said: “Mom has the most beautiful braid ... but is it a braid for you?”

Then Tarasik went to his father, who worked in a garage workshop. He asked his father to go outside. The son said to his father the words that make every honest paternal and maternal heart shrink from pain and indignation:

- Tatu, why did you leave your mother? She has such a beautiful braid... Mom is the kindest... the most affectionate. Now it's so hard for us... Dad, come back to mom.

The father stood before his son, bowing his head... In the evening he returned to his wife and asked for forgiveness from her and his son.

Head of the convoy

In one large village near the Dnieper, a 92-year-old woman died - the mother of four sons, the grandmother of eleven grandchildren, the great-grandmother of twenty-two great-grandchildren. Her life was difficult. In six graves - in East Prussia, and in the Mazurian swamps, and in the Carpathians, and near Berlin - her blood, on six soldier monuments - her last name, in each letter - her sleepless nights, joys and hopes.

The youngest, 50-year-old son, went with his grief and worries to people: help see his mother on her last journey. There were no ready-made boards for the coffin at the lumberyard, but there were kind people: they took off their hats, stood in silence for a minute, sawed a large pine trunk. Take it, son, build the last house of the mother. Boards need to be moved. No car, everyone at work. There is also a good man here. The son stopped the first oncoming car, shared his grief. The driver postponed his trip for half an hour, loaded the boards, drove out of the yard of the lumberyard. And here something strange and wild happened. The head of the convoy, seeing his car with boards, seeing the driver helping to tie the boards with a rope outside the gate, shouted:

- What is it? Why don't you go about your business?

The driver and the son of the deceased told the chief: do not shout, come to your senses - a man has died. Didn't remember, didn't apologize. He became even more furious, stomped his feet, waved his fist in front of the pale driver, climbed onto the body of the car, threw off the boards ... The driver drove off, and the son stood near the boards and cried. Behind the tears, he didn’t notice how a stranger drove up to him in a cart - he was returning from the oil plant, he heard abuse, he stopped, he understood everything ... He put the boards on the cart, touched the shoulder of his grief-stricken and insulted son, quietly asked: “Where to take it?”

I have known this head of the motorcade from an early age. Ivanko was the same boy as thousands of others, he went to school, he liked to wander barefoot in puddles after a summer rain, he climbed over the fence into the garden of his neighbors - a furtively plucked apple seemed tastier than apples in his garden.

But there was something else. There were things the neighbors talked about with indignation. Together with Ivanka's parents, her grandmother lived - her father's mother. For some reason, her daughter-in-law disliked her. The old woman settled in a closet, she cooked food for herself. The boy often heard from his mother: the grandmother is evil, not good ... Once, for a holiday, her mother prepared cold. “Take, son, and grandmother,” she said to the boy, “that little bowl in which we peeled the bones ...” Mother sends for brushwood for the stove: “Dial, Ivanko, dry brushwood, and let the wet grandmother stay, she does not like it to be hot in the hut.

So the child understood that the grandmother is considered a kind of outcast person ...

In summer, the grandmother asks Ivanka: go, granddaughter, to the meadow, pick me sorrel for borscht ... The boy does not want to go to the meadow, he runs into the garden, tears beet tops, brings it to his grandmother. She sees badly, crumbles tops, cooks borscht. And Ivanko tells his comrades how he deceived his grandmother.

The boys listen to Ivanka's story and are surprised: what would their fathers and mothers say to them if they did this. They talk about it at home, there is a rumor going around the village about an evil daughter-in-law and an unkind grandson...

Years have passed. Ivanko grew up, went into the army. Such, perhaps, is fate: he went through all the war hard times unharmed. But he did not return to his parents' house. A large power plant was being built near the village. Ivanko got a job in some office - he traveled all the time, drove Construction Materials. He quickly went up - he became a dispatcher, then the head of the convoy. Someone liked it: he guesses the desires of the authorities from a half-word, he gets everything out of the ground.

The father died, the grandmother died, the old mother remained. Her son settled in a small closet in his big stone house, put up a stove: cook, mother, your own food, live quietly for yourself, do not interfere.

Probably, in these moments, the mother remembers her instructions to Ivanka, when she sent her grandmother cold ... Maybe she also remembers the folk wisdom that teaches: take care of the human soul when the child lies not along, but across the crib.

The man with no name

It was at the beginning of the war. A bloody tornado scorched Ukraine with hot breath, a fascist horde crawled from the West, our troops retreated beyond the Dnieper. On a quiet August morning, a column of enemy motorcyclists arrived on the main street of the village where this man lived. People hid in houses. The hushed children looked fearfully out of the windows.

And suddenly people saw the incredible: this man came out of the hut - in an embroidered shirt, in boots polished to a shine, with bread and salt on an embroidered towel. Smiling ingratiatingly at the Nazis, he brought them bread and salt and bowed. The little red-haired corporal graciously accepted the bread and salt, patted the traitor on the shoulder, treated him to a cigarette, and then took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, held it in his hand, thought, opened it, counted out half the cigarettes and served ...

The children saw all this through the windows, they told their mothers about all this. A few minutes later, the whole village learned about the shameful hospitality of his fellow countryman. Fierce hatred boiled in the hearts, fists clenched. Then people began to think: who is this man, what led him to the terrible path of betrayal? They remembered the family tree from their grandfather-great-grandfather, mentally looked back at childhood. How so, because he is a twenty-year-old youth, it seems, and is a member of the Komsomol. But wait, what's his name? They knew the surname, the surname of a person has a parent, but no one knew the name. His mother, the collective farmer Yarina, was well known. And this man was called from childhood: Yarin's son. They began to think: what led the guy to betrayal? But no one could say anything definite about Yarina's son. Neighbors called him sissy. One son with his father and mother, he slept until dinner, and next to the bed on the table stood a jug of milk, a white kalach, sour cream, already carefully prepared by his mother ... People from an early age taught children to work, woke them up at dawn, sent them to the field to work, and Yarina protected her gold (as she called it: my gold, my only beloved one) from work and worries.

They also remembered that. When Yarina's son was twelve years old, a misfortune happened in the village: ten huts burned down, ten families were left homeless. Neighbors sheltered the victims of the fire, shared their housing with them. Sheltered one family and Yarina, and she and her son had to make room. But suddenly the son was capricious: “I don’t want the neighbors to live with us.” He left one evening under a stack of straw, he said to his mother: “I will sleep here, I will not go home. Let the neighbors get out of the barn, then I'll be back. Mother yielded to whim. The neighbors moved into the barn.

The son studied at school until the sixth grade, then teaching became a burden to him, and the mother decided: let the child not yearn for a book, the most important thing is health. Until the age of eighteen, my son hung around idle, he already began to go to evening parties, and he was drawn to the girls ... They remembered how, two before the war, the mother of a beautiful girl came to Yarina, came with tears: what a conversation they had, no one I didn’t know for sure, it became known in the village only that the black-eyed beauty stopped going out, then she lay in the hospital for a long time, the girlish beauty disappeared, the lights in her black eyes went out. The neighbors found out that Yarina had sent the “gold” somewhere to a distant farm, to her uncle, a beekeeper, there were rumors: Yarin’s son lives in the steppe expanse, eats white rolls with honey ... Once Yarina fell ill, asked her son to come, help housework. The son arrived, stayed at home for three days, the work seemed hard to him: carry water, cut firewood, mow hay - and again went to the farm.

How and when the son of Yarinin appeared in the village in that difficult time - no one could say. The old men and women sat in the twilight under the branchy cherries, talking about all this, and the thought haunted: who was he born into? Three days had passed after the Nazis occupied the village, and Yarin's son was already walking down the street with a police armband on his sleeve.

We think, we guess, but it won’t get any easier, - said 70-year-old grandfather Yukhim. - Where did such a bastard come from? From an empty soul. This man has nothing sacred behind his soul. The soul did not expire with pain either for the mother or for the native land. The heart did not shudder from anxiety for the land of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers. They didn’t leave a root hand in their native land, they didn’t create anything for people, they didn’t irrigate the field with sweat, there are no calluses from hard and sweet labor, and thistles have grown.

Terrible days have come for the mother. She saw that people despise her degenerate, despise her too. She tried to exhort her son, reminded him of the return of Soviet power and retribution, but the son began to threaten: you know what happens to those who do not agree with the new order. “You are no longer my son,” said the mother, left the hut, and went to her sister.

The terrible days of the occupation are over, at the dawn of a November day, Soviet soldiers brought the dawn of freedom on sharp bayonets. Hot battles bypassed the village sideways, Yarin's son did not have time to escape with his masters. And the people's revenge in the joyful days of liberation for some reason did not touch the fascist lackey and the criminal - the fellow villagers did not have time to deal with him, and meticulous lawyers began to check every fact, not trusting the rumors. Who saw how Yarinin's son participated in the execution of a partisan? Who saw how he shot the Soviet people? Who can prove that it was he who sent the black-eyed beauty to hard labor in Germany? All this was not easy to prove, although everyone knew, everyone was convinced that he had committed these crimes. The investigation went on for a long time, finally, what was proved was weighed, Yarina's son was tried, sentenced to seven years in prison.

Seven years have passed. The son returned from prison, found his mother dying. Yarina asked all relatives and the most respected old people in the village to come to her deathbed. She did not allow her son to approach the bed, she said before her death: “I curse you, you are not my son. I have changed my mind a lot over the years. It will be hard for me in the grave: your crime will fall like a stone on my chest. People, my dear countrymen, listen to me, remember my words, pass them on to your children and grandchildren. Don't put that heavy stone on my chest. Do not consider this man my son. I am not his mother. Cursed be the day when his eyes saw the sun.”

The son stood in the middle of the hut, gloomy and imperturbable, it seemed to him that he did not care what his mother said. People held their breath, waiting: maybe he would say at least a word, ask his mother for forgiveness. But the son remained silent. And then grandfather Yukhim said for everyone: “It will be as you ask, Yarino. We will not place a heavy stone on your chest. This man will walk the earth like a rootless dog until the end of his days. Not only will no one call him your son, but we will forget his name.”

The words of grandfather Yukhim turned out to be prophetic: even before, rarely anyone knew the name of the traitor, everyone called him Yarin's son, and now they have completely forgotten his name. They began to call this thirty-year-old man differently: that scoundrel; others are a man without a soul, others are a man who has nothing sacred behind his soul. He lived in his parents' hut, no one ever went to see him, the neighbors forbade their children to come close to the hut of the "man without a name" - that was the name finally given to him by all the peasants.

He went to work on the collective farm. People avoided working with him. At one time it was difficult with the cadres of machine operators, he asked to study as a tractor driver, but there was no person who would want to be alone with him, to pass on his knowledge to him. I had to give up this idea. The foreman sent him to where he could work alone, without communicating with other people. Somehow he was instructed to carry water to women who worked in the field. He brought water - the women drove him away and said to the foreman: "We will not go to work if this scoundrel even once appears before our eyes."

There are crimes for which they are never forgiven, there is loneliness that causes no pity or sympathy in anyone.

Yarin's son became an outcast. The court of the people turned out to be immeasurably worse than prison. He tried to marry, but there was no woman or girl who would dare to unite her fate with him.

Once I had to visit that village. I sat in the office of the chairman of the village council. An old, decrepit man came in, he seemed to be about seventy years old. “It is he, the man without a name,” said the chairman of the village council quietly. "He's thirty-nine now... Let's hear what he has to say."

“Send me somewhere,” the man without a name began to ask dully, with hidden pain. “I can't live here anymore. Send them to a nursing home or some kind of shelter. Don't send it, I'll hang myself. I know that I deserved human contempt and curse. I would like to hear a kind word even before death. They know me here, and I hear only curses. And if someone brings a piece of bread into the yard, then this is like pity for a dying dog. They'll bury it in the ground and spit on the grave... Send me somewhere where no one knows me. I will work with the last of my strength, earn a piece of bread. Let someone think of me as an honest person.”

When he, overgrown, dirty, walked along a rural street, returning home, people stopped, followed him with a long look, shook their heads in thought. And that evening, near the threshold of the parental hut, a man without a name found a piece of bacon and bread - people's hearts are not made of stone ...

They took pity on him and sent him to a nursing home. No one there knew about his past. They treated him like an old man who deserved the right to respect. They say that he was happy like a child when he was asked to do something for the team: dig a flower bed or sort out potatoes. But somehow, word of his past made its way to the nursing home. People's attitude towards him immediately changed. No one said a word about this man's past, but everyone began to avoid him. Two old men who lived in the same room with him asked for another, and he was left alone. On a cold December night, he went to no one knows where, and since then no one has seen him. There was a rumor that in the spring flood the river threw out a bluish corpse, so mutilated that it was impossible to determine who he was, this man.

The legend of motherly love

The mother had an only son - dear, beloved. The mother did not look for a soul in him; she collected dew drop by drop for washing, embroidered shirts from the finest silk. The son grew up - stately, handsome. He married a girl of amazing, unprecedented beauty. He brought his young wife to his native hut. The mother-in-law disliked the young wife and told her husband: “Let the mother not come into the hut, put her in the hallway.”

The son settled the mother in the passage, forbade her to enter the hut. The mother was afraid to appear to the evil daughter-in-law in front of her eyes. As soon as the daughter-in-law walked through the passage, the mother hid under the bed.

But this was not enough for the daughter-in-law. She says to her husband: “So that the spirit of the mother does not smell in the house. Moved her to the barn.”

The son moved his mother to the barn. Only at night did the mother come out of the dark barn. A young beauty was resting one evening under a blossoming apple tree and saw her mother come out of the barn.

The wife became furious and ran to her husband: “If you want me to live with you, kill your mother, take the heart out of her chest and bring it to me.” The filial heart did not tremble, he was bewitched by the unprecedented beauty of his wife. He says to his mother: “Come, mother, let’s swim in the river.” Go to the river rocky shore. Mother tripped on a stone. The son got angry: “Why are you stumbling, mom? Why don't you look down at your feet? So we will go to the river until evening.”

They came, undressed, bathed. The son went with his mother to the oak forest, broke dry branches, lit a fire, killed his mother, took out his heart from his chest. He put it on hot coals. A knot flared up, cracked, an ember flew, hit his son's face, and burned him. The son cried out, covering the burnt place with his palm. The mother's heart, burning on a slow fire, trembled, whispered: “My dear son, does it hurt you? Pick a plantain leaf, it grows by the fire, put it on the burnt place, put your mother’s heart on the plantain leaf... Then put it in the fire.”

The son sobbed, grabbed the hot mother's heart in his palm, put it in his torn chest, poured hot tears over him. He realized that no one had ever loved him so ardently and devotedly as his own mother.

And so great and inexhaustible was the mother's love, so deep and omnipotent was the desire of the mother's heart to see her son joyful and carefree, that the heart came to life, the torn chest closed, the mother stood up and pressed her son's curly head to her chest. After that, the son could not return to his beautiful wife, she became hateful to him. The mother did not return home either. Together they went to the steppe and became two high mounds.

filial ingratitude

Two mothers lived nearby - Maria and Christina. They worked on a collective farm, raised their sons: Maria had a son, Peter, and Christina, Andrey. The boys were of the same age. In the autumn of 1939, it was time for Peter and Andrei to join the army. Together, Maria and Khristina saw off their sons to the service, together they counted how many days remained to wait for the blue-eyed, blond Peter, black-eyed, with a forelock like a crow's wing, Andrei.

The war began, an invader enemy came to the Ukrainian land, for two years the mothers did not know anything about their sons, there was no long-awaited news. The native Soviet Army liberated the Ukrainian land, letters came to Christina and Mary in little blue triangular envelopes, joyful hearts fluttered - sons are alive. The last salvos of the war have died down. One week Peter and Andrey returned. Joy has come to sick mother's hearts.

But the joy was short-lived. The fates of the mothers were different, but the grief was the same. Maria fell ill, went to bed, her legs stopped obeying. It was difficult for Peter, not only did his mother's illness fall on him as an unexpected misfortune; one trouble, as they say, leads to another.

A black-browed bride was waiting for Peter, to celebrate, they decided to get married. You can’t impose a ban on young love, Galina became pregnant. According to the laws of folk morality, it is necessary for the son to bring the girl to his home, and then the disease chained the mother to bed. She sees how her son is tormented, he does not sleep at night. And he says to him: “Do not disgrace Galina, let her enter our house as your lawful wife, and what will happen to me will be.” Galina came to the house, they lived together with Peter amicably and in harmony, everything would have been fine if not for the mother's illness.

Peter heard that there is a wonderful doctor in Kyiv. Get lucky - you need money for the road. Peter and Galina decided: we will sell the hut, and we will put the mother on her feet. They sold her, went to live with a distant relative of her mother, and took Maria to Kyiv. Left in the hospital. The doctor said: you have to lie down for six months, or even more.

It became difficult to live young, but mothers helped all the time. They sold Galina's clothes, Peter's button accordion, and put her mother on her feet.

Not six months, but two years, Maria lay in the hospital. Recovered. “It wasn’t medicine that got me out of bed,” she told people, “but great filial love.”

With approval, with great respect, they spoke in the village about Peter and Galina. Mothers and fathers set them as an example, taught children how to live in the world.

Let's leave happy Mary with her happy children and grandchildren for now (it's not without reason that our mother-in-law calls our daughter-in-law a daughter, and our daughter-in-law mother-in-law - a mother), let's look into Christina's hut. Her fate was different. Andrei brought several suitcases of trophy goods. I didn't open my suitcases in my mother's hut. The mother's hut became cramped for him, he decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the deaf end of the village, away from the steppe. raised brick house, coated with zinc - a rarity in those years. Married. The young couple lived comfortably.

And Christina's house was falling apart. She asked her son to repair the roof. The son replied: there are enough of your worries, think about your own hut. The mother cried, covered the hut with straw somehow. “This is not grief yet,” thought Christina. “If only there were health…” But real grief also came: Andrei's mother fell ill, she could not get out of bed. Paralyzed arm and leg. Mother's neighbors came to Andrei, they say. “Do you have a conscience, Andrei? Mother cannot get out of bed, constant care is needed for her.” The son promised to visit his mother and did not visit. The neighbors began to take care of the sick old woman.

Six months have passed. A year has passed. Christina's health did not improve. But her son never came to see her. A rumor spread throughout the village: the son abandoned his mother. The people called Andrei heartless, and then a more expressive word - cattle.

People walked around Andrei, did not greet him. Andrey became afraid, and he laid hands on himself.

Why does it happen?

Why are sons sometimes ungrateful? Where do people with state-owned hearts come from? People remembered the life of this unfortunate mother: she invested all the strength of her heart in her beloved son, in her “gold”, in Andriyko, she did not sleep at night. People remembered how, even before the organization of the collective farm, Khristina and her husband used to go to the field to mow wheat. He used to put fragrant hay on a supply, cover it with white linen, carry the sleeping Andriyka with pillows and a blanket, cover his face from the burning sun. Sleeping Andriyko. People like him, eight years old, collect firewood in the forest, kindle a fire, carry water, and he sleeps.

Andriyko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother did not look for a soul in him and was most of all concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single adversity would overshadow his serene childhood. One autumn Christina treated the boy to mushrooms fried in sour cream. He liked the food so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were less and less mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk twelve miles into the forest. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly, she did not even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible that Andriyka's mood has deteriorated? “Why should he know that there is grief in the world?” - so Christina always said when she wanted to close her children's eyes to something sad. So it is this time. Bandaged somehow wounded leg, went to a neighbor. Every day a neighbor brought a basket of mushrooms, and her mother gave her her embroidered shirts for this.

Andriyko never found out what a misfortune befell his mother. His heart lived only with joys and pleasures. He took from people and gave nothing to them - that's why he grew up as a man with a heart of stone.

The years of Petrus' childhood passed quite differently. His mother also loved him, she also did not look for a soul in her son, but she did not protect his heart from all those difficulties and contradictions of life, in which joy is intertwined with bitterness, happiness with troubles and anxieties. In childhood, a person cognizes the world not only with the mind, but also with the heart; everything that happens in life awakens in the child's soul a wide variety of feelings, experiences, impulses, aspirations. Among these emotional movements of childhood, feelings of compassion, mercy, participation leave a particularly deep imprint in the heart. Maria's sensitive maternal heart made sure that from an early age a person felt: people live next to me, they have their own interests, desires, they want to be happy.

To be happy yourself, you must carefully, subtly, cordially, sensitively, carefully touch the hearts of other people. Mary, of course, did not repeat this holy commandment of popular morality at every step (a child could not understand the depths of this truth) - she taught her son to live like this.

Next to Maria lived a lonely old woman, often ill. I remember, as soon as something began to ripen in Maria’s large garden - cherries, cherries, apples, pears, plums, grapes, mother called Petrus:

“Take it to an old, lonely man,” and she gave her hands a plate with the first ripened fruits.

It has become a habit for the child.

“It’s easier to talk about love for humanity,” Maria taught her son, “than to help grandmother Yarina chop wood for the winter. Humanity is far away, but grandmother Yarina is nearby, conscience will not allow her to close her eyes at night if she has nothing to drown. Listen, son, with your heart to the cares and sorrows of men.

Two mothers

In a small hospital on the outskirts of a big city, two mothers were lying - Black-haired and White-haired. They gave birth to sons. The sons were born on the same day: to the Black-haired mother in the morning, to the White-haired mother in the evening. Both mothers were happy. They dreamed about the future of their sons.

“I want my son to become an outstanding person,” said the White-haired mother. - A musician or writer known throughout the world. Or a sculptor who created a work of art that will live for centuries. Or an engineer who built a spaceship that will fly to a distant star... That's what you want to live for...

“And I want my son to become a kind person,” said the Black-Skinned Mother. — To never forget mother and home. To love the Motherland and hate enemies.

Every day the fathers came to visit the young mothers. They looked for a long time at the little faces of their sons, happiness, amazement and tenderness shone in their eyes. Then they sat by the beds of their wives and talked to them in whispers for a long, long time about something. At the cradle of a newborn, they dream about the future - of course, only about a happy one. A week later, the happy husbands, now fathers, took their wives and sons home.

Thirty years have passed. In the same small hospital on the outskirts of the big city, two women came - Black-haired and White-haired. There was already gray hair in their braids, their faces were cut with wrinkles, but the women were as beautiful as they had been thirty years ago. They got to know each other. Both of them were put to be treated in the same ward where they gave birth to sons three decades ago. They talked about their lives. Both had many joys and even more grief. Their husbands died at the front. But for some reason, talking about their lives, they were silent about their sons. At last the Black-haired Mother asked:

- Who is your son?

“An outstanding musician,” the White-haired mother answered proudly. - He is now conducting an orchestra that performs in the largest theater in our city. He is a huge success. Don't you know my son? - And White-haired named the name of the musician. Yes, of course, the Black-haired mother knew this name well, it was known to many. Recently she read about the great success of this musician abroad.

- And what has your son become? White-haired asked.

- A baker. Well, to make it clearer to you, you have to work as a machine operator on a collective farm, that is, as a tractor driver, and a combine driver, and you have to work on a livestock farm. From early spring until late autumn, while the snow covers the ground, my son plows the land and sows bread, harvests and plows the land again, sows and harvests again ... We live in a village - a hundred kilometers from here. The son has two children - a boy of three years and a girl recently born ...

“After all, happiness has bypassed you,” said White-haired. “Your son has become a simple, unknown person.

The dark-haired mother did not answer.

And not a day passed, and a son came to the Black-haired mother from the village. In a white coat, he sat down on a white bench, whispered something to his mother for a long, long time. Joy shone in the eyes of the black-haired mother. She seemed to have forgotten everything in the world in those moments. She held in her hands the strong, sun-tanned hand of her son and smiled. Parting with his mother, the son, as if apologizing, laid grapes, honey, and oil out of his bag on a small table. “Get better, mom,” he said goodbye and kissed her.

But no one came to the White-haired Mageri. In the evening, when silence reigned in the room and the Black-haired mother, lying in bed, quietly smiled at her thoughts, the White-haired woman said:

- My son has a concert now ... If it were not for the concert, he, of course, would have come.

On the second day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village again came to the Black-haired mother. Again, he sat on the white bench for a long time, and the White-haired mother heard that it was a hot time in the field, they were working day and night ... Parting with his mother, the son laid out honeycombs, a white palanica and apples on a small table. With happiness, the face of the Black-haired woman shone and wrinkles were straightened.

No one came to the White-haired Mother.

In the evening the women lay in silence. Black-haired smiled, and White-haired sighed softly, afraid that her neighbor would not hear her sighs.

On the third day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village again came to the Black-haired mother - he brought two large watermelons, grapes, apples ... Together with his son, a three-year-old black-eyed grandson came. The son and grandson sat for a long time at the bed of the black-haired mother; happiness shone in her eyes, she looked younger. The blond-haired mother, with pain in her heart, heard her grandson tell his grandmother: together with his father, yesterday, he rode the “captain’s bridge” of the combine for half a day. “I'll be a combine driver too,” the boy said, and the grandmother kissed him. The white-haired mother in those moments remembered that her son, an outstanding musician, going on long trips, handed over, as they said in the family, his little son to some kind of boarding school ...

For a month two mothers lay in the hospital, every day a son-bread-beard from a distant village came to the Black-haired mother, brought a filial smile, and it seemed that the mother was recovering only from that smile. It seemed to the White-haired mother that when her neighbor's son came to visit, even the hospital walls wanted the mother of the farmer son to recover soon.

No one came to the White-haired Mother. A month has passed. The doctors said to the black-haired mother, “Now you are a perfectly healthy woman. There are no murmurs or interruptions in the heart.” And the doctor said to the White-haired mother: “You still need to lie down. Of course, you too will become a perfectly healthy person.” Saying this, the doctor looked for some reason in the direction.

The son came for the Black-haired mother. He brought several large bouquets of red roses. Flowers gave doctors and sisters. Everyone in the hospital was smiling.

Saying goodbye to Black-haired mother, White-haired asked her to stay alone with her for a few minutes. When everyone left the ward, the White-haired mother asked with tears in her eyes:

“Tell me, dear, how did you raise such a son?” After all, we gave birth to them on the same day. You are happy, and I ... - and she began to cry.

"We'll part and never see each other again," said Black-haired, "because there can't be such a wonderful coincidence a third time." So I will tell you the whole truth. The son whom I gave birth to on that happy day died ... He died when he was not even a year old. And this ... not my blood son, but my own! I adopted him as a three year old boy. Of course, he vaguely remembers this ... But I am his own mother. You saw it with your own eyes. I'm happy. And you are an unfortunate person, and I deeply sympathize with you. If you knew how I suffered these days for you. I already wanted to leave the hospital, because every visit of my son brought you hard feelings. When you leave the hospital, go to your son and say: his heartlessness will turn against him. As he treats his mother, so will his children treat him. Indifference to the father-mother is not forgiven.

sissy

The mother raised two sons. One of them went missing in the war, the other returned from service alive and well, bringing with him several suitcases of “trophy” goods. He never opened these suitcases in front of his mother. The mother's hut fell into disrepair, the son decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the other end of the village, away from my mother. He built a brick house, covered it with zinc, got married. The young family lived comfortably. And my mother's house was falling apart. She asked her son to cover the holey roof with straw. The son replied: I have enough worries of my own, think about your own hut. Mother cried...

A great grief came to the old mother: she fell ill, could not get out of bed. Paralyzed arm and leg. The mother's neighbors came to their son and said: “Do you have a conscience, Andrei? Mother does not get out of bed, she needs constant care.” The son promised to come to his mother - and did not come. The neighbors began to take care of the sick old woman.

Six months have passed, a year has passed. The mother felt worse and worse. And her son never came to her. A rumor went around the village: the son refused his mother. People called Andrey heartless, and then more expressively - cattle. Near the new house of Andrey, his four neighbors were going to build new houses. But how can an honest collective farmer live next to soulless cattle? Collective farmers asked for plots in another place, built houses, and moved. There were four "blanks" with holes in thatched roofs. It became scary to walk along the street where Andrei lived. From evening until morning, the sad voice of owls was heard in the empty yards. A year later, five more collective farmers moved into new huts, and it became creepy on the street. Andrei asked the chairman of the collective farm: give the empty plots to someone for building, but no one wanted to settle next to him.

On a stormy spring night, one abandoned hut caught fire from lightning, the wind blew, the entire abandoned hut burned down, only Andrey's house, covered with zinc, remained safe and sound. Andrey's mother died the same night. The son and his wife came to the funeral, squeezed out a tear, tried to do what sons do before the deathbed of their mothers, but somehow it turned out that everything had to be done, someone had already done it. The neighbors folded the remaining mother's clothes and tied them in a knot. Andrey took the bundle home, and the people saw him off with a look, and in which surprise was mixed with hatred.

Weeds grew on the conflagration. People saw how a wolf crept up to Andreeva’s hut at night, stood on a pile of ashes, raised his muzzle and howled plaintively.

People bypassed Andrei on the tenth road, did not greet him. Horror seized the soul of this heartless man. He was afraid to leave the hut, he went to bed at sunset. No one wanted to build new dwellings on the ashes, the yards were overgrown with thistles and aspens. Something happened to Andrei, people said, he went crazy: during the day he became afraid of the sun and people, and at night he wandered through the ashes. People were not surprised when they heard the news: Andrei hanged himself on a pole, preserved in one ashes.

Why does it happen? The mother gave all the strength of her heart to her beloved son Andreichik, she did not sleep at night. People remembered the childhood and adolescence of an ungrateful son. They remembered how Khristina used to go out with her husband in a cart to mow wheat in the field. He used to put it on a cart of fragrant hay, cover it with white linen, carry Andreika with pillows, shelter him from the morning cold. The eldest, twelve-year-old Pilipko helps his father and mother, collects firewood in the forest, kindles a fire, carries water, and ten-year-old Andreiko sleeps.

Andreiko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother did not look for a soul in him and was most concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single life's adversity would overshadow his serene childhood. One autumn mother Pilipka and Andreika treated them to fried mushrooms in sour cream. Andrey liked the food so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were fewer and fewer mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk every day in the forest for twelve miles. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly, she did not even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible for Andreyka's mood to darken? Why should he know that there is grief in the world? - so Christina always said when she wanted to close her children's eyes to something sad. So it is this time. She bandaged her somehow wounded leg, asked Andreika to call a neighbor. Every day a neighbor brought a basket of mushrooms, and her mother gave her her embroidered shirts for this. Andreiko never found out that trouble had befallen his mother. His heart lived only for his own joys, not a single desire went beyond his own pleasures. Therefore, he grew up as a heartless person, indifferent to the grief and worries, anxieties and worries of other people.

Passion for getting rich

Here is the fate of one family. A young agronomist and a worker of a livestock farm of a state farm began their family life brightly and joyfully. The young family was helped to build stone house. On the personal plot the owner planted grapes, started an apiary. I got rare varieties of apple and pear trees. The house of Nikolai Petrovich with a garden and a vineyard became a quiet corner. But life in this house was hard and cloudy. Every year more and more embraced the owner of the passion for enrichment. He surrounded the estate with a high fence. From early spring until late autumn, I spent the night in the garden - so that no one, which is good, picked a flower, an apple or a bunch of grapes. The entire harvest of the garden went to the market. Maria, the wife of Nikolai Petrovich, asked to leave at least something at home, but the owner was inexorable. Near the house he built a stone cellar, a barn, made an electrical installation for watering the garden and vegetable garden. He took out unprecedented varieties of tomatoes and began to grow them - also for sale. A greenhouse appeared in the depths of the garden - not only early tomatoes were grown here, but also flowers - also for sale.

Nikolai Petrovich and Maria had an only daughter. Her father forbade her to invite comrades home.

Oksana graduated from school and began working as a laboratory assistant at an oil refinery. The young mechanic fell in love with the girl. Once, secretly from her father, a girl came with a young man to a snow-covered garden, opened a greenhouse and gave him some flowers. Suddenly, the father came, got angry when he saw his daughter and the young man in the greenhouse, pulled out the flowers...

“I won’t have my foot in this accursed house anymore,” Oksana said. - You, father, tried to kill everything human in me. You poisoned my childhood. Your soul is cruel.

Oksana left her parents, and a few years later she went to her daughter and mother. Nikolai Petrovich was left alone with "his treasures." This is how happiness becomes illusory and poisonous if it is based on base passions.

The Legend of the Pioneer

When the Germans came to the village, Yura was left alone with his mother. Father and older brother went to the Red Army. The Germans ordered the mother and son to move into a small room, and a fascist officer settled in a large one.

When Yurko left the room into the yard, the officer was sitting under a pear tree and drinking coffee. He asked:

- What's your name, boy?

- How old are you?

- Ten.

Are you a pioneer?

— Pioneer.

- Where's your tie?

- In the chest.

Why is he in the chest? Why don't you wear it?

“Because you can’t wear a tie under the Nazis. It must be protected until ours come ...

The officer turned pale. His hands trembled. But he, restraining himself, continued to pretend to be a naive soldier, for whom politics is indifferent.

“Get some candy,” he said.

I can't take candy from you...

- Why?

“Because I hate you fascists.

The officer looked at the boy with wide eyes. He put down his coffee cup and got up.

- What would you do. Yurko, if I gave you my gun?

- Loaded?

Yes, loaded.

- I would have killed you.

The officer, with trembling hands, took out a pistol from his holster and shot the boy in the heart.

It is not known from whom - perhaps from the tree under which Yurko died - the words of the boy and the officer were passed from mouth to mouth, like a legend. And no one said

- The boy would be silent, why did he open his chest in front of the enemy's bullet.

Everyone who listened to the story of Yurka's death had a stronger heartbeat.

Petrik and Pavlik

Father and mother are sitting at the table. Mother sews, father reads a newspaper. Five-year-old Petrik plays on the couch: he saddles his horse, he is going on a long journey, he dreams of a journey beyond the blue sea.
The mother looked out the window and said to her father:

“Grandma Marfa is the devil…”

Petrik quickly unsaddled his horse, got up to look out the window at the wonderful thing, but he was too late. Grandma Martha was already knocking on the door.

Mother said:

- Come in, please.

When Grandma Marfa came in, her mother in a kind voice invited her to sit down. Grandmother sat down, sighed heavily and said:

- She just arrived. My legs hurt so much, they hurt so much...

Petrik looked in amazement at Grandma Martha. He asked:

— Grandma Martha, did you go yourself?

“Yes, I didn’t go, but I walked,” answered the grandmother and, smiling, gave Petrik a treat - a sweet shortbread.

“You, mother, said that the devil is carrying Grandma Marfa,” Petrik said reproachfully.

The mother's face flushed, then turned pale. She tilted her head and looked at her sewing. Father covered himself with a newspaper. Grandmother Martha got up and quietly left. An oppressive silence reigned in the house.

Many years later. Petrik became an adult, he has a wife and a five-year-old son, Pavlik. The father died, the mother lives in her hut.

One day an old mother came to visit her son. Stayed, evening was approaching. The mother says, as if reflecting:

- What should I do - go home or spend the night with you? It's evening, and the road is long.

“Go home, mother,” said the son.

And at that time, five-year-old Pavlik was playing on the sofa: he was saddling a horse, going on a long journey, dreaming of a trip across the blue sea. Hearing how his father escorted his grandmother, Pavlik said:

- I'll give you a horse, grandmother. Get on it, go ... Grandmother was dressing, and tears were dripping from her eyes.

Handset

Thirteen-year-old Kostya lived in a small town on the Dnieper and was in the sixth grade.

Recently, Kostya's mother was given nice apartment in a three-story house, on the second floor. Near the house there is a pay phone. Here you can call at any moment, even in the middle of the night.

Once Kostya looked into the booth and decided to cut off the telephone receiver. I will make, thinks, my phone at home. I will talk with my friend Yura, who lives on the third floor.

And so he did. I cut off the phone, but where can Yura get the phone? Went with a friend, found another booth - through three streets. Cut off the phone there. They made a phone, they talk. Very funny. He sees his mother, but does not even ask: “Where did the pipe come from?”

Several days have passed. Once Kostya woke up at night, he hears a groan. Mom groans. She asks for the light to be turned on. Kostya turned on the light bulb, he saw that his mother was lying pale, breathing heavily.

“Oh, my heart… to my son…” Kostya heard his mother whisper. “Run to the phone... Call an ambulance... You know how to call...” and the mother lost consciousness.

When Kostya heard his mother's words about the phone, he felt horrified. After all, in the two nearest booths he cut off the pipes, there are no new ones yet, he himself saw today ... What to do?

Kostya ran out into the street and wept. What will happen now? Where to run? I remembered that I still have a pay phone railway bridge. Ran.

Kostya is running around the city, there is an unusual silence around, the city is sleeping. Your heart is about to jump out of your chest. The boy wants to shout to the whole world: “Mom is dying, help, good people ...”

I ran to the bridge, but there was no booth. Moaned, sobbed Kostya, rushed to run home.

Opened the door to the room. Mother lies pale, not breathing.

"Mum! Mum!" Kostya shouted, falling to his knees in front of the bed.

dirty word

Misha, a seventh-grader, went to the toilet. He picked up an ember from the floor and wrote a dirty, insulting word on the wall.

So you have already learned to write? He suddenly heard a reproachful voice and looked around in fright.

In front of him stood the teacher Nikolai Vasilyevich.

Well, read what you wrote.

Misha was silent. He wrote such a dirty word that he didn't even dare to say it.

Nikolai Vasilievich was also silent. Then he asked:

— And who works at our school as a cleaner, do you know?

"Aunt Maria..." Misha said in a whisper.

“Now let’s go to Aunt Maria, ask her to whitewash your diploma ...

Misha's hands became cold. So he was ashamed. "Don't go to Aunt Maria," he said through tears.

With the white sleeve of his shirt he wiped the dirty word. But the black mark remained on the wall.

“I’ll bring clay and a brush,” Misha began to ask again. - Please forgive me...

"No, I can't forgive you," Nikolai Vasilievich said sternly. “You insulted your mother with that dirty word. He insulted Aunt Maria. He insulted all women. So ask your mother for forgiveness.

— Oh, I can't ask... I'm ashamed...

- If you are ashamed to ask for forgiveness today - ask in a year, in two years, even in ten years, but you will not dare to tell the girl holy word“love” until she forgives you for that dirty, offensive word.

Misha was crying.

Years passed, Misha became a young man, but he could not forget what he had done during his adolescence.

And now Misha fell in love with the girl Olesya. Olesya was surprised: why is Misha sometimes silent and sad?

Once Misha said to Olesya:

“Forgive me, Olesya, for offending you... And he told how he insulted all mothers, all women with a dirty word.

Olesya asked in surprise:

"Why didn't you forget about it?" After all, so many years have passed ... And why were you silent?

“I couldn't bear that guilt any longer. I judged myself for many years. Now you either judge me or forgive me.

“Forgive me,” Olesya said quietly.

Dog - dog death

In the village of Kutsevolovka, Onufrievsky district, there lived a boy, Mikhail Topolya. Mikhail's mother died an hour after giving birth. The child was saved by a distant relative of the mother, Oksana. She fed her daughter Marina, who was born a month earlier. Now I had to feed two children. The boy grew strong and healthy. Up to a year he got to his feet, began to walk, but Oksana could not wean him from her breast, she fed him for up to two years. “The boy,” she justified herself, “is an orphan, but let him know neither grief nor loneliness.” Oksana gave everything to him. “Like cheese rolling in butter,” the neighbors said about Mikhail’s serene childhood, shaking their heads, “this will not lead to good.” Oksana heard about the fears expressed by her neighbors, but brushed them aside. The boy was her creation, she saved his life, she saw herself in him. He slept as much as he wanted, everything was allowed to him, and nothing was forbidden. There were carp in the pond, Mikhailik loved fried fish with sour cream. And Oksana and Marinka went to the pond, floundered for several hours in the water to please the “dityna”. Autumn had already come, the crucian carp hid deep in the silt, and Mikhailik would not even take a spoon if there was no frying pan with fried crucian carp on the table. Oksana climbed into cold water. I got a cold, fell asleep. So that there were crucian carp on the table, Marinka took the mother's embroidered shirt and tablecloth to the fishermen, exchanged it for fish ...

It turned out that there was nothing in Mikhail's life that he would have got with difficulty, in which a piece of his soul would have been left. In an empty heart that does not know worries, worries, anxieties, there can be no place for true love.

Mikhailo studied at school somehow. I sat in the fourth grade for two years, in the fifth I had two autumn exams and barely moved to the sixth, and I did not finish the sixth in two years. He dropped out of school at the age of sixteen. Oksana cried, reproached ... “You will drive me to the grave with your school,” Mikhailo shouted. - There will be no more foot of mine in your hut. I know that you are not my mother. And for feeding me, I will buy you a barrel of milk.”

Stunned by the grave insult, Oksana fell ill. And Mikhailo went to live with a distant relative of his father, a forester.

A few months later, the war began. When the occupiers came, among the police people, a slender, red-cheeked Mikhailo caught the eye. The police officers served the fascists with canine loyalty, carried out the most dirty, shameful deeds. The sending of young people to fascist slavery began - to work in Germany. The police hunted the young people like they were animals. One night, the Nazis sent the entire police to raid. Mikhailo ended up on the street where Oksana lived. Together with other girls, he brought Marina to the village administration. Behind the door of the village council, Oksana was crying. When Mikhailo left the hut, she spat in his eyes and called him a traitor.

"You are a partisan!" Mikhailo shouted and ran to the officer. Oksana was seized and tied up. We went home with a search. Several grenades and a rifle were found in the attic.

“Where does all this come from?” the officer asked.

The woman was silent.

“Which of the villagers can tell where she got the weapons from?” - the officer threw into the crowd of people driven to the house of the village council.

Everyone was silent. Mikhailo, who was in a group of policemen, said:

“She is connected with the partisans. At night, suspicious people come to her.”

Old men and women stood with bated breath. They could not believe: what a monster you have to be in order to send to death a woman who was a mother to a man: after all, she nursed him.

“Well, then,” said the officer, “the partisans have one end. And as a reward for the fact that you faithfully serve the Reich, I give you a great honor: shoot this woman with your hand. They say that at that moment on the Maidan in front of the village administration, it was as if the earth groaned: a groan escaped from dozens of breasts, people could not take their eyes off the traitor. He led Oksana with his friends to the willows by the pond. People heard three deaf shots, the earth groaned again. Mikhailo Topolya returned with his friends. On the same evening, the Nazis sent Marinka to the station, who was caught along with other girls during a raid. And three days later, the news spread through the Dnieper villages: in the wilderness, in the Wolf's tract, not far from the forester's hut, they found Mikhail hanged on an oak bough. On the chest is a piece of paper with the inscription: “So it will be with every traitor!”

When the villagers learned about the just retribution that befell the traitor, they breathed a sigh of relief and said: "To a dog - dog's death."

One day, little Fedya and his mother went to the field to dig potatoes.
- You are eight years old, - says the mother, - it's time to work for real. Mother digs up a bush, and Fedya chooses potatoes from the hole and throws them into the bucket.
Fedya doesn't want to work. He collects potatoes, which is on top, but does not want to dig in the ground. I left potatoes under one bush, under another. Mother noticed such work and says:
- Aren't you ashamed? Man looks and sees everything!

Fedya looked around and was surprised:
- Where is this Man? What does he see?
- In you, Fedya, Man. He sees everything. He notices everything, and only you do not always listen to what he tells you. Here, listen to his voice, he will tell you how you work.
- And where is he in me - Man? Fedya is surprised.
“In your head, in your chest, in your heart,” your mother prompts.
Fedya went to another bush, picked up the potatoes that lay on top. I was about to leave him, when suddenly, as if someone were really reproaching: what are you doing, Fedya? Dig, there are still potatoes in the ground. Fedya was surprised and looked around. There is no one, but as if someone looks at his work and shames him.
“And in fact, after all, the Man sees my work,” Fedya thought, sighed, raked the ground near the dug up bush and found a few more potatoes.
It became easier on the soul of Fedya. He even sang a funny song.
He works for an hour, works for another, and is more and more surprised. He thinks a little: “Why dig so deep, probably there are no potatoes anymore,” and then someone overhears his thought. And Fedya becomes ashamed. But also joyful, oh, how joyful. “This is a good friend - a Man,” Fedya thinks.

lazy pillow

Little Irinka needs to get up early, go to kindergarten - but she doesn’t want to, oh how she doesn’t want to.
In the evening Irinka asks:
- Grandpa, why don't you want to get up in the morning? Teach me how to sleep so that I want to get up and go to the kindergarten.
“It’s your lazy pillow,” says grandfather.
- And what can she do to not be so lazy?
“I know a secret,” grandfather whispers. - Just then, when you don’t want to get up, take a pillow, take it out into the fresh air and beat it well with your fists - it won’t be lazy.
- Indeed? - Irina was delighted. - I'll do that tomorrow.
It's not light yet, it's not dawn yet, but we need to get ready for the garden. I don't want to get up Irinka, but after all, you finally need to teach the pillow a lesson, too lazy to beat it out of it.
Irinka grabbed it, quickly dressed, took a pillow, carried it out into the yard, put it on a bench, and with her fists, fists.
I returned home, put a pillow on the bed and let's wash.
The cat meows downstairs, the wind hums behind the wall, the grandfather grins with a mustache.

I'm sorry kids I'm late

It was a cold morning. Snowflakes fell. A cold wind blew from the north.
We arrived at the school at dawn. The class was warm. We took off our shoes and warmed our feet by the stove.
The bell rang. We sat down. A minute passed, then another. There was no teacher. We sent Nina - she is the class leader: go to the teacher's room, find out why there is no teacher.
A minute later, Nina returned and said:
- Ivan Petrovich fell ill. The director told us to go home.
- Hooray! we all shouted with unspeakable joy. – Hurrah!.. There will be no lessons!.. The teacher fell ill.
Suddenly the door opened and Ivan Petrovich entered the classroom. Snow-covered, weary. We froze in surprise. Sit down with your head bowed.
Ivan Petrovich went up to the table.
"I'm sorry kids," he said softly. I got a little sick, but still decided to go to school. A bit late...
He undressed right there in the classroom. He sat down at the table and looked at us.
And we were ashamed to raise our eyes ...

Father and Son

There lived a mother, father and son. The son was not yet a year old when his father left his mother. He left and left secretly, without saying where he was going and why.

The mother and son were left alone. It was not easy for the mother. Early in the morning she took her son to the nursery, and she herself went to work.

The son grew up. His mother no longer took him, but took him not to a nursery, to a kindergarten. The son learned that other children have not only a mother, but also a father. This discovery struck a child's soul. The little son asked his mother:

Why do other children have fathers and we don't? The guys say that without a father it is impossible to be born ... Is this true?

Yes, you can't be born without a father.

“So we had a father?”

Yes, we had a father. He left us...

- Why did he leave?

He doesn't love us, that's why he left...

“What do you mean he doesn’t love you?” the son asked. Mother explained it as well as she could; the three-year-old boy did not understand everything, and his mother said:

- Grow up a little - you will understand ... Another year has passed, the second. A five-year-old son asks his mother:

- Mom, did our father love himself?

He loved himself even less than us. He not only did not love himself, but he did not respect himself ...

What does it mean to respect yourself?

The mother tried to explain, but the five-year-old boy could not yet understand such complex things.

A year has passed, two years have passed. A seven-year-old son asks his mother:

“Mom, what does it mean to respect yourself?”

“It means leaving yourself on earth in your children. Who does not want to leave himself in his children - he does not want to be a man.

“But didn’t he, the father, understand this? asked the astonished son.

He will understand this only in his old age.

When the son was 7 years old, his mother got married. Left alone with her son, the mother said to him:

This man loves me and I love him. If he loves you and you love him, maybe you will become his son and he your father. In the meantime, do not call him either father or uncle - it is not good. Just refer to him as "you".

Mother's second husband was a kind, warm-hearted man. But the boy did not open up to him, because he did not believe him. “If the person without whom I could not have been born did not become my father, then how can a stranger become a father?” thought the boy, and these thoughts made him feel bad.

The son got sick. Days and nights he lay in oblivion, and only occasionally consciousness returned to him. One night he felt better, opened his eyes and saw his stepfather in front of him. The man held his weak hand in his hand and cried ... The boy closed his eyes, he wanted these moments to last forever. The minute came, the second, the third. The boy's heart fluttered with happiness: a man caresses his hand. He felt: the man wants him to get well. The boy could no longer lie with his eyes closed, he opened his eyes, smiled and said:

"I'll call you Father, okay?"

Several years passed, and a terrible grief fell upon the happy family: an incurable illness chained the mother to bed. For ten years she was ill, and all these years her husband and son took care of her. When the son was 23 years old, his mother died. The son got married. He himself had a son. The stepfather became an old, weak man. His son loved him passionately and devotedly. Dinner never began in the family without him, not a single business was decided without his advice.

And then one day, when the family was having dinner, someone knocked on the hut. An old man entered.

— Do you recognize me?

- No, I don't know.

- I'm your father.

The son remembered everything. He replied:

— Here is my Father... And you are just an old man for me.

“But you are my blood son,” the old man pleaded. - Shelter me.

“Very well, live with us,” said the son. “But I can neither love, nor respect you, nor call you a father.

So they live in a big house, among apple trees and cherries. On warm summer days, the family sits at a table in the garden. Lively conversation, laughter is heard. And the old man is sitting in his room by the window and, bowing his gray head, is crying.

Mom's braid is the most beautiful

Every evening, seven-year-old Tarasik met his father, who returned from work. These were joyful moments: dad opened the door, Tarasik ran to meet him, dad took his son in his arms. Mother smiled as she prepared dinner.

One day, Tarasik, coming home from school, saw his mother sitting by the window, thoughtful and sad.

Why are you sad, mom? asked an alarmed Tarasik.

“Dad won’t come to visit us again.

- How - will not come? the child was surprised. — Where will he go?

The mind of the child did not fit, what does it mean for the father not to come home ...

Mom said:

He will no longer live with us. Well... he came by today and got his stuff. He went to another woman...

- Why? cried Tarasik. Why did he go to another woman?

The mother was confused. She frantically searched for something to say to her son. And she said what came to mind:

“Because I have a gray braid... But this woman has a gray braid…”

Tarasik began to cry, hugged his mother, stroked his mother's black braid with a small hand, in which gray hairs shone. Then he said quietly:

“But it’s your braid, mother… your braid is the most beautiful… Doesn’t dad understand this?”

- He doesn't understand, son.

Then something happened that the mother did not think about, saying the words about her gray braid. The boy found out where the woman, to whom his father had gone, lives. He went to this woman. The woman was at home. The boy approached her, carefully looked at her hairstyle and said: “Mom has the most beautiful braid ... but is it a braid for you?”

Then Tarasik went to his father, who worked in a garage workshop. He asked his father to go outside. The son said to his father the words that make every honest paternal and maternal heart shrink from pain and indignation:

- Tatu, why did you leave your mother? She has such a beautiful braid... Mom is the kindest... the most affectionate. Now it's so hard for us... Dad, come back to mom.

The father stood before his son, bowing his head... In the evening he returned to his wife and asked for forgiveness from her and his son.

Head of the convoy

In one large village near the Dnieper, a 92-year-old woman died - the mother of four sons, the grandmother of eleven grandchildren, the great-grandmother of twenty-two great-grandchildren. Her life was difficult. In six graves - in East Prussia, and in the Mazurian swamps, and in the Carpathians, and near Berlin - her blood, on six soldier monuments - her last name, in each letter - her sleepless nights, joys and hopes.

The youngest, 50-year-old son, went with his grief and worries to people: help see his mother on her last journey. There were no ready-made boards for the coffin at the lumberyard, but there were kind people: they took off their hats, stood in silence for a minute, sawed a large pine trunk. Take it, son, build the last house of the mother. Boards need to be moved. No car, everyone at work. There is also a good man here. The son stopped the first oncoming car, shared his grief. The driver postponed his trip for half an hour, loaded the boards, drove out of the yard of the lumberyard. And here something strange and wild happened. The head of the convoy, seeing his car with boards, seeing the driver helping to tie the boards with a rope outside the gate, shouted:

- What is it? Why don't you go about your business?

The driver and the son of the deceased told the chief: do not shout, come to your senses - a man has died. Didn't remember, didn't apologize. He became even more furious, stomped his feet, waved his fist in front of the pale driver, climbed onto the body of the car, threw off the boards ... The driver drove off, and the son stood near the boards and cried. Behind the tears, he didn’t notice how a stranger drove up to him in a cart - he was returning from the oil plant, he heard abuse, he stopped, he understood everything ... He put the boards on the cart, touched the shoulder of his grief-stricken and insulted son, quietly asked: “Where to take it?”

I have known this head of the motorcade from an early age. Ivanko was the same boy as thousands of others, he went to school, he liked to wander barefoot in puddles after a summer rain, he climbed over the fence into the garden of his neighbors - a furtively plucked apple seemed tastier than apples in his garden.

But there was something else. There were things the neighbors talked about with indignation. Together with Ivanka's parents, her grandmother lived - her father's mother. For some reason, her daughter-in-law disliked her. The old woman settled in a closet, she cooked food for herself. The boy often heard from his mother: the grandmother is evil, not good ... Once, for a holiday, her mother prepared cold. “Take, son, and grandmother,” she said to the boy, “that little bowl in which we peeled the bones ...” Mother sends for brushwood for the stove: “Dial, Ivanko, dry brushwood, and let the wet grandmother stay, she does not like it to be hot in the hut.

So the child understood that the grandmother is considered a kind of outcast person ...

In summer, the grandmother asks Ivanka: go, granddaughter, to the meadow, pick me sorrel for borscht ... The boy does not want to go to the meadow, he runs into the garden, tears beet tops, brings it to his grandmother. She sees badly, crumbles tops, cooks borscht. And Ivanko tells his comrades how he deceived his grandmother.

The boys listen to Ivanka's story and are surprised: what would their fathers and mothers say to them if they did this. They talk about it at home, there is a rumor going around the village about an evil daughter-in-law and an unkind grandson...

Years have passed. Ivanko grew up, went into the army. Such, perhaps, is fate: he went through all the war hard times unharmed. But he did not return to his parents' house. A large power plant was being built near the village. Ivanko got a job in some office - he traveled all the time, carried building materials. He quickly went up - he became a dispatcher, then the head of the convoy. Someone liked it: he guesses the desires of the authorities from a half-word, he gets everything out of the ground.

The father died, the grandmother died, the old mother remained. Her son settled in a small closet in his big stone house, put up a stove: cook, mother, your own food, live quietly for yourself, do not interfere.

Probably, in these moments, the mother remembers her instructions to Ivanka, when she sent her grandmother cold ... Maybe she also remembers the folk wisdom that teaches: take care of the human soul when the child lies not along, but across the crib.

The man with no name

It was at the beginning of the war. A bloody tornado scorched Ukraine with hot breath, a fascist horde crawled from the West, our troops retreated beyond the Dnieper. On a quiet August morning, a column of enemy motorcyclists arrived on the main street of the village where this man lived. People hid in houses. The hushed children looked fearfully out of the windows.

And suddenly people saw the incredible: this man came out of the hut - in an embroidered shirt, in boots polished to a shine, with bread and salt on an embroidered towel. Smiling ingratiatingly at the Nazis, he brought them bread and salt and bowed. The little red-haired corporal graciously accepted the bread and salt, patted the traitor on the shoulder, treated him to a cigarette, and then took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, held it in his hand, thought, opened it, counted out half the cigarettes and served ...

The children saw all this through the windows, they told their mothers about all this. A few minutes later, the whole village learned about the shameful hospitality of his fellow countryman. Fierce hatred boiled in the hearts, fists clenched. Then people began to think: who is this man, what led him to the terrible path of betrayal? They remembered the family tree from their grandfather-great-grandfather, mentally looked back at childhood. How so, because he is a twenty-year-old youth, it seems, and is a member of the Komsomol. But wait, what's his name? They knew the surname, the surname of a person has a parent, but no one knew the name. His mother, the collective farmer Yarina, was well known. And this man was called from childhood: Yarin's son. They began to think: what led the guy to betrayal? But no one could say anything definite about Yarina's son. Neighbors called him sissy. One son with his father and mother, he slept until dinner, and next to the bed on the table stood a jug of milk, a white kalach, sour cream, already carefully prepared by his mother ... People from an early age taught children to work, woke them up at dawn, sent them to the field to work, and Yarina protected her gold (as she called it: my gold, my only beloved one) from work and worries.

They also remembered that. When Yarina's son was twelve years old, a misfortune happened in the village: ten huts burned down, ten families were left homeless. Neighbors sheltered the victims of the fire, shared their housing with them. Sheltered one family and Yarina, and she and her son had to make room. But suddenly the son was capricious: “I don’t want the neighbors to live with us.” He left one evening under a stack of straw, he said to his mother: “I will sleep here, I will not go home. Let the neighbors get out of the barn, then I'll be back. Mother yielded to whim. The neighbors moved into the barn.

The son studied at school until the sixth grade, then teaching became a burden to him, and the mother decided: let the child not yearn for a book, the most important thing is health. Until the age of eighteen, my son hung around idle, he already began to go to evening parties, and he was drawn to the girls ... They remembered how, two before the war, the mother of a beautiful girl came to Yarina, came with tears: what a conversation they had, no one I didn’t know for sure, it became known in the village only that the black-eyed beauty stopped going out, then she lay in the hospital for a long time, the girlish beauty disappeared, the lights in her black eyes went out. The neighbors found out that Yarina had sent the “gold” somewhere to a distant farm, to her uncle, a beekeeper, there were rumors: Yarin’s son lives in the steppe expanse, eats white rolls with honey ... Once Yarina fell ill, asked her son to come, help housework. The son arrived, stayed at home for three days, the work seemed hard to him: carry water, cut firewood, mow hay - and again went to the farm.

How and when the son of Yarinin appeared in the village in that difficult time - no one could say. The old men and women sat in the twilight under the branchy cherries, talking about all this, and the thought haunted: who was he born into? Three days had passed after the Nazis occupied the village, and Yarin's son was already walking down the street with a police armband on his sleeve.

We think, we guess, but it won’t get any easier, - said 70-year-old grandfather Yukhim. - Where did such a bastard come from? From an empty soul. This man has nothing sacred behind his soul. The soul did not expire with pain either for the mother or for the native land. The heart did not shudder from anxiety for the land of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers. They didn’t leave a root hand in their native land, they didn’t create anything for people, they didn’t irrigate the field with sweat, there are no calluses from hard and sweet labor, and thistles have grown.

Terrible days have come for the mother. She saw that people despise her degenerate, despise her too. She tried to exhort her son, reminded him of the return of Soviet power and retribution, but the son began to threaten: you know what happens to those who do not agree with the new order. “You are no longer my son,” said the mother, left the hut, and went to her sister.

The terrible days of the occupation are over, at the dawn of a November day, Soviet soldiers brought the dawn of freedom on sharp bayonets. Hot battles bypassed the village sideways, Yarin's son did not have time to escape with his masters. And the people's revenge in the joyful days of liberation for some reason did not touch the fascist lackey and the criminal - the fellow villagers did not have time to deal with him, and meticulous lawyers began to check every fact, not trusting the rumors. Who saw how Yarinin's son participated in the execution of a partisan? Who saw how he shot the Soviet people? Who can prove that it was he who sent the black-eyed beauty to hard labor in Germany? All this was not easy to prove, although everyone knew, everyone was convinced that he had committed these crimes. The investigation went on for a long time, finally, what was proved was weighed, Yarina's son was tried, sentenced to seven years in prison.

Seven years have passed. The son returned from prison, found his mother dying. Yarina asked all relatives and the most respected old people in the village to come to her deathbed. She did not allow her son to approach the bed, she said before her death: “I curse you, you are not my son. I have changed my mind a lot over the years. It will be hard for me in the grave: your crime will fall like a stone on my chest. People, my dear countrymen, listen to me, remember my words, pass them on to your children and grandchildren. Don't put that heavy stone on my chest. Do not consider this man my son. I am not his mother. Cursed be the day when his eyes saw the sun.”

The son stood in the middle of the hut, gloomy and imperturbable, it seemed to him that he did not care what his mother said. People held their breath, waiting: maybe he would say at least a word, ask his mother for forgiveness. But the son remained silent. And then grandfather Yukhim said for everyone: “It will be as you ask, Yarino. We will not place a heavy stone on your chest. This man will walk the earth like a rootless dog until the end of his days. Not only will no one call him your son, but we will forget his name.”

The words of grandfather Yukhim turned out to be prophetic: even before, rarely anyone knew the name of the traitor, everyone called him Yarin's son, and now they have completely forgotten his name. They began to call this thirty-year-old man differently: that scoundrel; others are a man without a soul, others are a man who has nothing sacred behind his soul. He lived in his parents' hut, no one ever went to see him, the neighbors forbade their children to come close to the hut of the "man without a name" - that was the name finally given to him by all the peasants.

He went to work on the collective farm. People avoided working with him. At one time it was difficult with the cadres of machine operators, he asked to study as a tractor driver, but there was no person who would want to be alone with him, to pass on his knowledge to him. I had to give up this idea. The foreman sent him to where he could work alone, without communicating with other people. Somehow he was instructed to carry water to women who worked in the field. He brought water - the women drove him away and said to the foreman: "We will not go to work if this scoundrel even once appears before our eyes."

There are crimes for which they are never forgiven, there is loneliness that causes no pity or sympathy in anyone.

Yarin's son became an outcast. The court of the people turned out to be immeasurably worse than prison. He tried to marry, but there was no woman or girl who would dare to unite her fate with him.

Once I had to visit that village. I sat in the office of the chairman of the village council. An old, decrepit man came in, he seemed to be about seventy years old. “It is he, the man without a name,” said the chairman of the village council quietly. "He's thirty-nine now... Let's hear what he has to say."

“Send me somewhere,” the man without a name began to ask dully, with hidden pain. “I can't live here anymore. Send them to a nursing home or some kind of shelter. Don't send it, I'll hang myself. I know that I deserved human contempt and curse. I would like to hear a kind word even before death. They know me here, and I hear only curses. And if someone brings a piece of bread into the yard, then this is like pity for a dying dog. They'll bury it in the ground and spit on the grave... Send me somewhere where no one knows me. I will work with the last of my strength, earn a piece of bread. Let someone think of me as an honest person.”

When he, overgrown, dirty, walked along a rural street, returning home, people stopped, followed him with a long look, shook their heads in thought. And that evening, near the threshold of the parental hut, a man without a name found a piece of bacon and bread - people's hearts are not made of stone ...

They took pity on him and sent him to a nursing home. No one there knew about his past. They treated him like an old man who deserved the right to respect. They say that he was happy like a child when he was asked to do something for the team: dig a flower bed or sort out potatoes. But somehow, word of his past made its way to the nursing home. People's attitude towards him immediately changed. No one said a word about this man's past, but everyone began to avoid him. Two old men who lived in the same room with him asked for another, and he was left alone. On a cold December night, he went to no one knows where, and since then no one has seen him. There was a rumor that in the spring flood the river threw out a bluish corpse, so mutilated that it was impossible to determine who he was, this man.

The legend of motherly love

The mother had an only son - dear, beloved. The mother did not look for a soul in him; she collected dew drop by drop for washing, embroidered shirts from the finest silk. The son grew up - stately, handsome. He married a girl of amazing, unprecedented beauty. He brought his young wife to his native hut. The mother-in-law disliked the young wife and told her husband: “Let the mother not come into the hut, put her in the hallway.”

The son settled the mother in the passage, forbade her to enter the hut. The mother was afraid to appear to the evil daughter-in-law in front of her eyes. As soon as the daughter-in-law walked through the passage, the mother hid under the bed.

But this was not enough for the daughter-in-law. She says to her husband: “So that the spirit of the mother does not smell in the house. Moved her to the barn.”

The son moved his mother to the barn. Only at night did the mother come out of the dark barn. A young beauty was resting one evening under a blossoming apple tree and saw her mother come out of the barn.

The wife became furious and ran to her husband: “If you want me to live with you, kill your mother, take the heart out of her chest and bring it to me.” The filial heart did not tremble, he was bewitched by the unprecedented beauty of his wife. He says to his mother: “Come, mother, let’s swim in the river.” Go to the river rocky shore. Mother tripped on a stone. The son got angry: “Why are you stumbling, mom? Why don't you look down at your feet? So we will go to the river until evening.”

They came, undressed, bathed. The son went with his mother to the oak forest, broke dry branches, lit a fire, killed his mother, took out his heart from his chest. He put it on hot coals. A knot flared up, cracked, an ember flew, hit his son's face, and burned him. The son cried out, covering the burnt place with his palm. The mother's heart, burning on a slow fire, trembled, whispered: “My dear son, does it hurt you? Pick a plantain leaf, it grows by the fire, put it on the burnt place, put your mother’s heart on the plantain leaf... Then put it in the fire.”

The son sobbed, grabbed the hot mother's heart in his palm, put it in his torn chest, poured hot tears over him. He realized that no one had ever loved him so ardently and devotedly as his own mother.

And so great and inexhaustible was the mother's love, so deep and omnipotent was the desire of the mother's heart to see her son joyful and carefree, that the heart came to life, the torn chest closed, the mother stood up and pressed her son's curly head to her chest. After that, the son could not return to his beautiful wife, she became hateful to him. The mother did not return home either. Together they went to the steppe and became two high mounds.

filial ingratitude

Two mothers lived nearby - Maria and Christina. They worked on a collective farm, raised their sons: Maria had a son, Peter, and Christina, Andrey. The boys were of the same age. In the autumn of 1939, it was time for Peter and Andrei to join the army. Together, Maria and Khristina saw off their sons to the service, together they counted how many days remained to wait for the blue-eyed, blond Peter, black-eyed, with a forelock like a crow's wing, Andrei.

The war began, an invader enemy came to the Ukrainian land, for two years the mothers did not know anything about their sons, there was no long-awaited news. The native Soviet Army liberated the Ukrainian land, letters came to Christina and Mary in little blue triangular envelopes, joyful hearts fluttered - sons are alive. The last salvos of the war have died down. One week Peter and Andrey returned. Joy has come to sick mother's hearts.

But the joy was short-lived. The fates of the mothers were different, but the grief was the same. Maria fell ill, went to bed, her legs stopped obeying. It was difficult for Peter, not only did his mother's illness fall on him as an unexpected misfortune; one trouble, as they say, leads to another.

A black-browed bride was waiting for Peter, to celebrate, they decided to get married. You can’t impose a ban on young love, Galina became pregnant. According to the laws of folk morality, it is necessary for the son to bring the girl to his home, and then the disease chained the mother to bed. She sees how her son is tormented, he does not sleep at night. And he says to him: “Do not disgrace Galina, let her enter our house as your lawful wife, and what will happen to me will be.” Galina came to the house, they lived together with Peter amicably and in harmony, everything would have been fine if not for the mother's illness.

Peter heard that there is a wonderful doctor in Kyiv. Get lucky - you need money for the road. Peter and Galina decided: we will sell the hut, and we will put the mother on her feet. They sold her, went to live with a distant relative of her mother, and took Maria to Kyiv. Left in the hospital. The doctor said: you have to lie down for six months, or even more.

It became difficult to live young, but mothers helped all the time. They sold Galina's clothes, Peter's button accordion, and put her mother on her feet.

Not six months, but two years, Maria lay in the hospital. Recovered. “It wasn’t medicine that got me out of bed,” she told people, “but great filial love.”

With approval, with great respect, they spoke in the village about Peter and Galina. Mothers and fathers set them as an example, taught children how to live in the world.

Let's leave happy Mary with her happy children and grandchildren for now (it's not without reason that our mother-in-law calls our daughter-in-law a daughter, and our daughter-in-law mother-in-law - a mother), let's look into Christina's hut. Her fate was different. Andrei brought several suitcases of trophy goods. I didn't open my suitcases in my mother's hut. The mother's hut became cramped for him, he decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the deaf end of the village, away from the steppe. He erected a brick house, covered it with zinc - a rarity in those years. Married. The young couple lived comfortably.

And Christina's house was falling apart. She asked her son to repair the roof. The son replied: there are enough of your worries, think about your own hut. The mother cried, covered the hut with straw somehow. “This is not grief yet,” thought Christina. “If only there were health…” But real grief also came: Andrei's mother fell ill, she could not get out of bed. Paralyzed arm and leg. Mother's neighbors came to Andrei, they say. “Do you have a conscience, Andrei? Mother cannot get out of bed, constant care is needed for her.” The son promised to visit his mother and did not visit. The neighbors began to take care of the sick old woman.

Six months have passed. A year has passed. Christina's health did not improve. But her son never came to see her. A rumor spread throughout the village: the son abandoned his mother. The people called Andrei heartless, and then a more expressive word - cattle.

People walked around Andrei, did not greet him. Andrey became afraid, and he laid hands on himself.

Why does it happen?

Why are sons sometimes ungrateful? Where do people with state-owned hearts come from? People remembered the life of this unfortunate mother: she invested all the strength of her heart in her beloved son, in her “gold”, in Andriyko, she did not sleep at night. People remembered how, even before the organization of the collective farm, Khristina and her husband used to go to the field to mow wheat. He used to put fragrant hay on a supply, cover it with white linen, carry the sleeping Andriyka with pillows and a blanket, cover his face from the burning sun. Sleeping Andriyko. People like him, eight years old, collect firewood in the forest, kindle a fire, carry water, and he sleeps.

Andriyko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother did not look for a soul in him and was most of all concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single adversity would overshadow his serene childhood. One autumn Christina treated the boy to mushrooms fried in sour cream. He liked the food so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were less and less mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk twelve miles into the forest. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly, she did not even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible that Andriyka's mood has deteriorated? “Why should he know that there is grief in the world?” - so Christina always said when she wanted to close her children's eyes to something sad. So it is this time. Bandaged somehow wounded leg, went to a neighbor. Every day a neighbor brought a basket of mushrooms, and her mother gave her her embroidered shirts for this.

Andriyko never found out what a misfortune befell his mother. His heart lived only with joys and pleasures. He took from people and gave nothing to them - that's why he grew up as a man with a heart of stone.

The years of Petrus' childhood passed quite differently. His mother also loved him, she also did not look for a soul in her son, but she did not protect his heart from all those difficulties and contradictions of life, in which joy is intertwined with bitterness, happiness with troubles and anxieties. In childhood, a person cognizes the world not only with the mind, but also with the heart; everything that happens in life awakens in the child's soul a wide variety of feelings, experiences, impulses, aspirations. Among these emotional movements of childhood, feelings of compassion, mercy, participation leave a particularly deep imprint in the heart. Maria's sensitive maternal heart made sure that from an early age a person felt: people live next to me, they have their own interests, desires, they want to be happy.

To be happy yourself, you must carefully, subtly, cordially, sensitively, carefully touch the hearts of other people. Mary, of course, did not repeat this holy commandment of popular morality at every step (a child could not understand the depths of this truth) - she taught her son to live like this.

Next to Maria lived a lonely old woman, often ill. I remember, as soon as something began to ripen in Maria’s large garden - cherries, cherries, apples, pears, plums, grapes, mother called Petrus:

“Take it to an old, lonely man,” and she gave her hands a plate with the first ripened fruits.

It has become a habit for the child.

“It’s easier to talk about love for humanity,” Maria taught her son, “than to help grandmother Yarina chop wood for the winter. Humanity is far away, but grandmother Yarina is nearby, conscience will not allow her to close her eyes at night if she has nothing to drown. Listen, son, with your heart to the cares and sorrows of men.

Two mothers

In a small hospital on the outskirts of a big city, two mothers were lying - Black-haired and White-haired. They gave birth to sons. The sons were born on the same day: to the Black-haired mother in the morning, to the White-haired mother in the evening. Both mothers were happy. They dreamed about the future of their sons.

“I want my son to become an outstanding person,” said the White-haired mother. - A musician or writer known throughout the world. Or a sculptor who created a work of art that will live for centuries. Or an engineer who built a spaceship that will fly to a distant star... That's what you want to live for...

“And I want my son to become a kind person,” said the Black-Skinned Mother. — To never forget mother and home. To love the Motherland and hate enemies.

Every day the fathers came to visit the young mothers. They looked for a long time at the little faces of their sons, happiness, amazement and tenderness shone in their eyes. Then they sat by the beds of their wives and talked to them in whispers for a long, long time about something. At the cradle of a newborn, they dream about the future - of course, only about a happy one. A week later, the happy husbands, now fathers, took their wives and sons home.

Thirty years have passed. In the same small hospital on the outskirts of the big city, two women came - Black-haired and White-haired. There was already gray hair in their braids, their faces were cut with wrinkles, but the women were as beautiful as they had been thirty years ago. They got to know each other. Both of them were put to be treated in the same ward where they gave birth to sons three decades ago. They talked about their lives. Both had many joys and even more grief. Their husbands died at the front. But for some reason, talking about their lives, they were silent about their sons. At last the Black-haired Mother asked:

- Who is your son?

“An outstanding musician,” the White-haired mother answered proudly. - He is now conducting an orchestra that performs in the largest theater in our city. He is a huge success. Don't you know my son? - And White-haired named the name of the musician. Yes, of course, the Black-haired mother knew this name well, it was known to many. Recently she read about the great success of this musician abroad.

- And what has your son become? White-haired asked.

- A baker. Well, to make it clearer to you, you have to work as a machine operator on a collective farm, that is, as a tractor driver, and a combine driver, and you have to work on a livestock farm. From early spring until late autumn, while the snow covers the ground, my son plows the land and sows bread, harvests and plows the land again, sows and harvests again ... We live in a village - a hundred kilometers from here. The son has two children - a boy of three years and a girl recently born ...

“After all, happiness has bypassed you,” said White-haired. “Your son has become a simple, unknown person.

The dark-haired mother did not answer.

And not a day passed, and a son came to the Black-haired mother from the village. In a white coat, he sat down on a white bench, whispered something to his mother for a long, long time. Joy shone in the eyes of the black-haired mother. She seemed to have forgotten everything in the world in those moments. She held in her hands the strong, sun-tanned hand of her son and smiled. Parting with his mother, the son, as if apologizing, laid grapes, honey, and oil out of his bag on a small table. “Get better, mom,” he said goodbye and kissed her.

But no one came to the White-haired Mageri. In the evening, when silence reigned in the room and the Black-haired mother, lying in bed, quietly smiled at her thoughts, the White-haired woman said:

- My son has a concert now ... If it were not for the concert, he, of course, would have come.

On the second day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village again came to the Black-haired mother. Again, he sat on the white bench for a long time, and the White-haired mother heard that it was a hot time in the field, they were working day and night ... Parting with his mother, the son laid out honeycombs, a white palanica and apples on a small table. With happiness, the face of the Black-haired woman shone and wrinkles were straightened.

No one came to the White-haired Mother.

In the evening the women lay in silence. Black-haired smiled, and White-haired sighed softly, afraid that her neighbor would not hear her sighs.

On the third day, before evening, the son-farmer from a distant village again came to the Black-haired mother - he brought two large watermelons, grapes, apples ... Together with his son, a three-year-old black-eyed grandson came. The son and grandson sat for a long time at the bed of the black-haired mother; happiness shone in her eyes, she looked younger. The blond-haired mother, with pain in her heart, heard her grandson tell his grandmother: together with his father, yesterday, he rode the “captain’s bridge” of the combine for half a day. “I'll be a combine driver too,” the boy said, and the grandmother kissed him. The white-haired mother in those moments remembered that her son, an outstanding musician, going on long trips, handed over, as they said in the family, his little son to some kind of boarding school ...

For a month two mothers lay in the hospital, every day a son-bread-beard from a distant village came to the Black-haired mother, brought a filial smile, and it seemed that the mother was recovering only from that smile. It seemed to the White-haired mother that when her neighbor's son came to visit, even the hospital walls wanted the mother of the farmer son to recover soon.

No one came to the White-haired Mother. A month has passed. The doctors said to the black-haired mother, “Now you are a perfectly healthy woman. There are no murmurs or interruptions in the heart.” And the doctor said to the White-haired mother: “You still need to lie down. Of course, you too will become a perfectly healthy person.” Saying this, the doctor looked for some reason in the direction.

The son came for the Black-haired mother. He brought several large bouquets of red roses. Flowers gave doctors and sisters. Everyone in the hospital was smiling.

Saying goodbye to Black-haired mother, White-haired asked her to stay alone with her for a few minutes. When everyone left the ward, the White-haired mother asked with tears in her eyes:

“Tell me, dear, how did you raise such a son?” After all, we gave birth to them on the same day. You are happy, and I ... - and she began to cry.

"We'll part and never see each other again," said Black-haired, "because there can't be such a wonderful coincidence a third time." So I will tell you the whole truth. The son whom I gave birth to on that happy day died ... He died when he was not even a year old. And this ... not my blood son, but my own! I adopted him as a three year old boy. Of course, he vaguely remembers this ... But I am his own mother. You saw it with your own eyes. I'm happy. And you are an unfortunate person, and I deeply sympathize with you. If you knew how I suffered these days for you. I already wanted to leave the hospital, because every visit of my son brought you hard feelings. When you leave the hospital, go to your son and say: his heartlessness will turn against him. As he treats his mother, so will his children treat him. Indifference to the father-mother is not forgiven.

sissy

The mother raised two sons. One of them went missing in the war, the other returned from service alive and well, bringing with him several suitcases of “trophy” goods. He never opened these suitcases in front of his mother. The mother's hut fell into disrepair, the son decided to build a new one. I chose a place at the other end of the village, away from my mother. He built a brick house, covered it with zinc, got married. The young family lived comfortably. And my mother's house was falling apart. She asked her son to cover the holey roof with straw. The son replied: I have enough worries of my own, think about your own hut. Mother cried...

A great grief came to the old mother: she fell ill, could not get out of bed. Paralyzed arm and leg. The mother's neighbors came to their son and said: “Do you have a conscience, Andrei? Mother does not get out of bed, she needs constant care.” The son promised to come to his mother - and did not come. The neighbors began to take care of the sick old woman.

Six months have passed, a year has passed. The mother felt worse and worse. And her son never came to her. A rumor went around the village: the son refused his mother. People called Andrey heartless, and then more expressively - cattle. Near the new house of Andrey, his four neighbors were going to build new houses. But how can an honest collective farmer live next to soulless cattle? Collective farmers asked for plots in another place, built houses, and moved. There were four "blanks" with holes in thatched roofs. It became scary to walk along the street where Andrei lived. From evening until morning, the sad voice of owls was heard in the empty yards. A year later, five more collective farmers moved into new huts, and it became creepy on the street. Andrei asked the chairman of the collective farm: give the empty plots to someone for building, but no one wanted to settle next to him.

On a stormy spring night, one abandoned hut caught fire from lightning, the wind blew, the entire abandoned hut burned down, only Andrey's house, covered with zinc, remained safe and sound. Andrey's mother died the same night. The son and his wife came to the funeral, squeezed out a tear, tried to do what sons do before the deathbed of their mothers, but somehow it turned out that everything had to be done, someone had already done it. The neighbors folded the remaining mother's clothes and tied them in a knot. Andrey took the bundle home, and the people saw him off with a look, and in which surprise was mixed with hatred.

Weeds grew on the conflagration. People saw how a wolf crept up to Andreeva’s hut at night, stood on a pile of ashes, raised his muzzle and howled plaintively.

People bypassed Andrei on the tenth road, did not greet him. Horror seized the soul of this heartless man. He was afraid to leave the hut, he went to bed at sunset. No one wanted to build new dwellings on the ashes, the yards were overgrown with thistles and aspens. Something happened to Andrei, people said, he went crazy: during the day he became afraid of the sun and people, and at night he wandered through the ashes. People were not surprised when they heard the news: Andrei hanged himself on a pole, preserved in one ashes.

Why does it happen? The mother gave all the strength of her heart to her beloved son Andreichik, she did not sleep at night. People remembered the childhood and adolescence of an ungrateful son. They remembered how Khristina used to go out with her husband in a cart to mow wheat in the field. He used to put it on a cart of fragrant hay, cover it with white linen, carry Andreika with pillows, shelter him from the morning cold. The eldest, twelve-year-old Pilipko helps his father and mother, collects firewood in the forest, kindles a fire, carries water, and ten-year-old Andreiko sleeps.

Andreiko grew up healthy and cheerful, his mother did not look for a soul in him and was most concerned that nothing disturbing would touch his heart, that not a single life's adversity would overshadow his serene childhood. One autumn mother Pilipka and Andreika treated them to fried mushrooms in sour cream. Andrey liked the food so much that every day he asked for mushrooms with sour cream. And there were fewer and fewer mushrooms nearby, and Christina had to walk every day in the forest for twelve miles. One day my mother cut her leg and barely made it home. But reluctantly, she did not even show that the misfortune had happened: is it possible for Andreyka's mood to darken? Why should he know that there is grief in the world? - so Christina always said when she wanted to close her children's eyes to something sad. So it is this time. She bandaged her somehow wounded leg, asked Andreika to call a neighbor. Every day a neighbor brought a basket of mushrooms, and her mother gave her her embroidered shirts for this. Andreiko never found out that trouble had befallen his mother. His heart lived only for his own joys, not a single desire went beyond his own pleasures. Therefore, he grew up as a heartless person, indifferent to the grief and worries, anxieties and worries of other people.

Passion for getting rich

Here is the fate of one family. A young agronomist and a worker of a livestock farm of a state farm began their family life brightly and joyfully. The young family was helped to build a stone house. On the garden plot, the owner planted grapes and started an apiary. I got rare varieties of apple and pear trees. The house of Nikolai Petrovich with a garden and a vineyard became a quiet corner. But life in this house was hard and cloudy. Every year more and more embraced the owner of the passion for enrichment. He surrounded the estate with a high fence. From early spring until late autumn, I spent the night in the garden - so that no one, which is good, picked a flower, an apple or a bunch of grapes. The entire harvest of the garden went to the market. Maria, the wife of Nikolai Petrovich, asked to leave at least something at home, but the owner was inexorable. Near the house he built a stone cellar, a barn, made an electrical installation for watering the garden and vegetable garden. He took out unprecedented varieties of tomatoes and began to grow them - also for sale. A greenhouse appeared in the depths of the garden - not only early tomatoes were grown here, but also flowers - also for sale.

Nikolai Petrovich and Maria had an only daughter. Her father forbade her to invite comrades home.

Oksana graduated from school and began working as a laboratory assistant at an oil refinery. The young mechanic fell in love with the girl. Once, secretly from her father, a girl came with a young man to a snow-covered garden, opened a greenhouse and gave him some flowers. Suddenly, the father came, got angry when he saw his daughter and the young man in the greenhouse, pulled out the flowers...

“I won’t have my foot in this accursed house anymore,” Oksana said. - You, father, tried to kill everything human in me. You poisoned my childhood. Your soul is cruel.

Oksana left her parents, and a few years later she went to her daughter and mother. Nikolai Petrovich was left alone with "his treasures." This is how happiness becomes illusory and poisonous if it is based on base passions.

The Legend of the Pioneer

When the Germans came to the village, Yura was left alone with his mother. Father and older brother went to the Red Army. The Germans ordered the mother and son to move into a small room, and a fascist officer settled in a large one.

When Yurko left the room into the yard, the officer was sitting under a pear tree and drinking coffee. He asked:

- What's your name, boy?

- How old are you?

- Ten.

Are you a pioneer?

— Pioneer.

- Where's your tie?

- In the chest.

Why is he in the chest? Why don't you wear it?

“Because you can’t wear a tie under the Nazis. It must be protected until ours come ...

The officer turned pale. His hands trembled. But he, restraining himself, continued to pretend to be a naive soldier, for whom politics is indifferent.

“Get some candy,” he said.

I can't take candy from you...

- Why?

“Because I hate you fascists.

The officer looked at the boy with wide eyes. He put down his coffee cup and got up.

- What would you do. Yurko, if I gave you my gun?

- Loaded?

Yes, loaded.

- I would have killed you.

The officer, with trembling hands, took out a pistol from his holster and shot the boy in the heart.

It is not known from whom - perhaps from the tree under which Yurko died - the words of the boy and the officer were passed from mouth to mouth, like a legend. And no one said

- The boy would be silent, why did he open his chest in front of the enemy's bullet.

Everyone who listened to the story of Yurka's death had a stronger heartbeat.

Petrik and Pavlik

Father and mother are sitting at the table. Mother sews, father reads a newspaper. Five-year-old Petrik plays on the couch: he saddles his horse, he is going on a long journey, he dreams of a journey beyond the blue sea.
The mother looked out the window and said to her father:

“Grandma Marfa is the devil…”

Petrik quickly unsaddled his horse, got up to look out the window at the wonderful thing, but he was too late. Grandma Martha was already knocking on the door.

Mother said:

- Come in, please.

When Grandma Marfa came in, her mother in a kind voice invited her to sit down. Grandmother sat down, sighed heavily and said:

- She just arrived. My legs hurt so much, they hurt so much...

Petrik looked in amazement at Grandma Martha. He asked:

— Grandma Martha, did you go yourself?

“Yes, I didn’t go, but I walked,” answered the grandmother and, smiling, gave Petrik a treat - a sweet shortbread.

“You, mother, said that the devil is carrying Grandma Marfa,” Petrik said reproachfully.

The mother's face flushed, then turned pale. She tilted her head and looked at her sewing. Father covered himself with a newspaper. Grandmother Martha got up and quietly left. An oppressive silence reigned in the house.

Many years later. Petrik became an adult, he has a wife and a five-year-old son, Pavlik. The father died, the mother lives in her hut.

One day an old mother came to visit her son. Stayed, evening was approaching. The mother says, as if reflecting:

- What should I do - go home or spend the night with you? It's evening, and the road is long.

“Go home, mother,” said the son.

And at that time, five-year-old Pavlik was playing on the sofa: he was saddling a horse, going on a long journey, dreaming of a trip across the blue sea. Hearing how his father escorted his grandmother, Pavlik said:

- I'll give you a horse, grandmother. Get on it, go ... Grandmother was dressing, and tears were dripping from her eyes.

Handset

Thirteen-year-old Kostya lived in a small town on the Dnieper and was in the sixth grade.

Recently, Kostya's mother was given a good apartment in a three-story building, on the second floor. Near the house there is a pay phone. Here you can call at any moment, even in the middle of the night.

Once Kostya looked into the booth and decided to cut off the telephone receiver. I will make, thinks, my phone at home. I will talk with my friend Yura, who lives on the third floor.

And so he did. I cut off the phone, but where can Yura get the phone? Went with a friend, found another booth - through three streets. Cut off the phone there. They made a phone, they talk. Very funny. He sees his mother, but does not even ask: “Where did the pipe come from?”

Several days have passed. Once Kostya woke up at night, he hears a groan. Mom groans. She asks for the light to be turned on. Kostya turned on the light bulb, he saw that his mother was lying pale, breathing heavily.

“Oh, my heart… to my son…” Kostya heard his mother whisper. “Run to the phone... Call an ambulance... You know how to call...” and the mother lost consciousness.

When Kostya heard his mother's words about the phone, he felt horrified. After all, in the two nearest booths he cut off the pipes, there are no new ones yet, he himself saw today ... What to do?

Kostya ran out into the street and wept. What will happen now? Where to run? I remembered that there is also a pay phone near the railway bridge. Ran.

Kostya is running around the city, there is an unusual silence around, the city is sleeping. Your heart is about to jump out of your chest. The boy wants to shout to the whole world: “Mom is dying, help, good people ...”

I ran to the bridge, but there was no booth. Moaned, sobbed Kostya, rushed to run home.

Opened the door to the room. Mother lies pale, not breathing.

"Mum! Mum!" Kostya shouted, falling to his knees in front of the bed.

dirty word

Misha, a seventh-grader, went to the toilet. He picked up an ember from the floor and wrote a dirty, insulting word on the wall.

So you have already learned to write? He suddenly heard a reproachful voice and looked around in fright.

In front of him stood the teacher Nikolai Vasilyevich.

Well, read what you wrote.

Misha was silent. He wrote such a dirty word that he didn't even dare to say it.

Nikolai Vasilievich was also silent. Then he asked:

— And who works at our school as a cleaner, do you know?

"Aunt Maria..." Misha said in a whisper.

“Now let’s go to Aunt Maria, ask her to whitewash your diploma ...

Misha's hands became cold. So he was ashamed. "Don't go to Aunt Maria," he said through tears.

With the white sleeve of his shirt he wiped the dirty word. But the black mark remained on the wall.

“I’ll bring clay and a brush,” Misha began to ask again. - Please forgive me...

"No, I can't forgive you," Nikolai Vasilievich said sternly. “You insulted your mother with that dirty word. He insulted Aunt Maria. He insulted all women. So ask your mother for forgiveness.

— Oh, I can't ask... I'm ashamed...

- If you are ashamed to ask for forgiveness today - ask in a year, in two years, even in ten years, but you will not dare to say the holy word “love” to a girl until she forgives you for this dirty, insulting word.

Misha was crying.

Years passed, Misha became a young man, but he could not forget what he had done during his adolescence.

And now Misha fell in love with the girl Olesya. Olesya was surprised: why is Misha sometimes silent and sad?

Once Misha said to Olesya:

“Forgive me, Olesya, for offending you... And he told how he insulted all mothers, all women with a dirty word.

Olesya asked in surprise:

"Why didn't you forget about it?" After all, so many years have passed ... And why were you silent?

“I couldn't bear that guilt any longer. I judged myself for many years. Now you either judge me or forgive me.

“Forgive me,” Olesya said quietly.

Dog - dog death

In the village of Kutsevolovka, Onufrievsky district, there lived a boy, Mikhail Topolya. Mikhail's mother died an hour after giving birth. The child was saved by a distant relative of the mother, Oksana. She fed her daughter Marina, who was born a month earlier. Now I had to feed two children. The boy grew strong and healthy. Up to a year he got to his feet, began to walk, but Oksana could not wean him from her breast, she fed him for up to two years. “The boy,” she justified herself, “is an orphan, but let him know neither grief nor loneliness.” Oksana gave everything to him. “Like cheese rolling in butter,” the neighbors said about Mikhail’s serene childhood, shaking their heads, “this will not lead to good.” Oksana heard about the fears expressed by her neighbors, but brushed them aside. The boy was her creation, she saved his life, she saw herself in him. He slept as much as he wanted, everything was allowed to him, and nothing was forbidden. There were carp in the pond, Mikhailik loved fried fish with sour cream. And Oksana and Marinka went to the pond, floundered for several hours in the water to please the “dityna”. Autumn had already come, the crucian carp hid deep in the silt, and Mikhailik would not even take a spoon if there was no frying pan with fried crucian carp on the table. Oksana climbed into the cold water. I got a cold, fell asleep. So that there were crucian carp on the table, Marinka took the mother's embroidered shirt and tablecloth to the fishermen, exchanged it for fish ...

It turned out that there was nothing in Mikhail's life that he would have got with difficulty, in which a piece of his soul would have been left. In an empty heart that does not know worries, worries, anxieties, there can be no place for true love.

Mikhailo studied at school somehow. I sat in the fourth grade for two years, in the fifth I had two autumn exams and barely moved to the sixth, and I did not finish the sixth in two years. He dropped out of school at the age of sixteen. Oksana cried, reproached ... “You will drive me to the grave with your school,” Mikhailo shouted. - There will be no more foot of mine in your hut. I know that you are not my mother. And for feeding me, I will buy you a barrel of milk.”

Stunned by the grave insult, Oksana fell ill. And Mikhailo went to live with a distant relative of his father, a forester.

A few months later, the war began. When the occupiers came, among the police people, a slender, red-cheeked Mikhailo caught the eye. The police officers served the fascists with canine loyalty, carried out the most dirty, shameful deeds. The sending of young people to fascist slavery began - to work in Germany. The police hunted the young people like they were animals. One night, the Nazis sent the entire police to raid. Mikhailo ended up on the street where Oksana lived. Together with other girls, he brought Marina to the village administration. Behind the door of the village council, Oksana was crying. When Mikhailo left the hut, she spat in his eyes and called him a traitor.

"You are a partisan!" Mikhailo shouted and ran to the officer. Oksana was seized and tied up. We went home with a search. Several grenades and a rifle were found in the attic.

“Where does all this come from?” the officer asked.

The woman was silent.

“Which of the villagers can tell where she got the weapons from?” - the officer threw into the crowd of people driven to the house of the village council.

Everyone was silent. Mikhailo, who was in a group of policemen, said:

“She is connected with the partisans. At night, suspicious people come to her.”

Old men and women stood with bated breath. They could not believe: what a monster you have to be in order to send to death a woman who was a mother to a man: after all, she nursed him.

“Well, then,” said the officer, “the partisans have one end. And as a reward for the fact that you faithfully serve the Reich, I give you a great honor: shoot this woman with your hand. They say that at that moment on the Maidan in front of the village administration, it was as if the earth groaned: a groan escaped from dozens of breasts, people could not take their eyes off the traitor. He led Oksana with his friends to the willows by the pond. People heard three deaf shots, the earth groaned again. Mikhailo Topolya returned with his friends. On the same evening, the Nazis sent Marinka to the station, who was caught along with other girls during a raid. And three days later, the news spread through the Dnieper villages: in the wilderness, in the Wolf's tract, not far from the forester's hut, they found Mikhail hanged on an oak bough. On the chest is a piece of paper with the inscription: “So it will be with every traitor!”

When the villagers learned about the just retribution that befell the traitor, they breathed a sigh of relief and said: "To a dog - dog's death."

The cat is embarrassed

The cat is sitting on the doorstep. Squinting in the bright sun. Suddenly he hears: the sparrows chirped. The cat was quiet, alert. Slowly he began to make his way to the fence. And there were sparrows.

Crawled to the very fence - and how to jump. I wanted to grab a sparrow. And the sparrows fluttered and flew away.

The cat flew over the fence and fell into a puddle. Came out wet and dirty.

The cat is going home. It's embarrassing for him. And sparrows have flocked from all over the yard, flying over the loser and chirping. They are laughing at the cat.

How we saved the lark chicks

In the wheat we found a lark's nest. There are five chicks in the nest. They are not able to fly. And tomorrow the wheat will be harvested by a combine. We look at the little chicks, and the lark flies above us. He screams in alarm. We took the nest with the chicks and transferred it to the green millet. Millet will not be mowed for a long time.

Let's go home. We look: the lark flew into the nest. I sat there for a long time. Then he took off into the blue sky and sang joyfully. This is what he told us:

Thanks for saving my kids.

So that the butterfly does not prick

Little Zoya was walking in the garden. She walked over to the acacia tree. On the acacia - sharp-sharp thorns.

A bright butterfly flies over the acacia. Oh, how is she not afraid to fly! It will fly into a thorn - what will happen then?

Zoya went up to the acacia tree. Broke one thorn, second, third.

Mom saw and asked:

What are you doing, Zoya? Why are you breaking thorns?

So that the butterfly does not prick, - answered Zoya.

Rain and Thunder

Rain was sleeping on a warm cloud. This is such a small bird, similar to a cockerel. Sleeping rain.

Thunder crept up on him. This is such a beast - shaggy, hairy. Thunder crept up to the Rain and how it thunders. Rain was frightened, woke up, cried. Tears poured down to the ground often, often.

And people say it's raining. The field and meadow are washed. Wheat and cabbage are washed.

Rain cried out. It stopped raining.

morning breeze

It was a quiet summer night. Everything was asleep. And the breeze fell asleep, lay down under a willow bush.

But here comes the morning light. A breeze woke up, ran out from under the bush. I ran along the bank of the pond. Woke up the reed. The reed rustled, swayed. And a butterfly was sleeping on it. The butterfly woke up too. She flew to the village, and the morning lightning flared up more and more clearly. The sun is about to rise soon. A butterfly flew to a rose flower. She sat on a flower, the flower woke up. I looked around and the sun was already shining.

Bunny and rowan

Winter came. The ground was covered with snow. It became difficult for the bunny to get food.

Once he saw red berries on a mountain ash. The bunny jumps around the tree, and the berries are high.

Bunny asks:

Give me, mountain ash, berries.

And the rowan answers:

Ask for the wind. He will help you.

The bunny turned to the wind. The wind has flown in, swaying, shaking the mountain ash. A bunch of red berries came off and fell on the snow. The bunny rejoices at the berries.

Thank you, wind, he says.

Autumn brought golden ribbons

Two birch trees grow over the pond. Slender, tall, white. Lowered birch green braids. The wind is blowing, combing the braids. Birch leaves whisper softly. They are talking about something.

One night it got cold. White ice crystals glistened on the grass. Autumn has come to the birches. Brought them golden ribbons. Weaved birch ribbons into green braids.

The sun has risen. Melted ice crystals. The sun looked at the birch trees and did not recognize them - golden ribbons in green braids. The sun is laughing, and the birches are sad.

Goodbye Sunshine!

In the evening, the little girl said goodbye to the Sun. It sank over the horizon.

Goodbye, Sunshine, - said the girl.

Goodbye, girl, - answered the Sun. - Go to bed. I'll rest too. Early in the morning I wake up and affectionately meet you. Wait for me at that window.

The girl went to bed. She dreams of blue skies.

Here the sun has risen. It touched the girl's face with a gentle ray. The girl woke up and said:

Good afternoon Sunshine! How glad I am for you!

How the ant climbed over the stream

A small Ant is running along a forest path. He runs for food: after all, he has small children at home.

Suddenly a stream crossed the path. And on the other side of the stream lie fragrant grains. How to get to them?

Ant sees - a tall stalk of rye grows on the bank of a stream. The Ant cut off the stalk - after all, he has such sharp teeth as knives. A stalk fell across the stream.

Ant climbed to the other side. Here are the fragrant grains. “Wait, kids, I’m already bringing you food!”

How the Swallow was saved

The swallow flew high in the sky. The predatory Kite noticed the Swallow and chased after her to eat. That's about to overtake the Swallow. Swallow squeaked plaintively. It was she who wept in grief. And then she remembered that her little chicks were waiting in the nest. Naked, helpless. They can't wait for their mother.

“Who will feed you, little ones, if I die! No, the predatory kite will not catch up with me.

The Swallow flew like an arrow and hid in the nest. The chicks rejoiced, squealed joyfully.

When the dome opens its petals

In the evening, the poppy flower closed its petals. The poppy sleeps all night. The day has already come, the sun has already risen, but she still sleeps, does not open her petals.

Suddenly, a hairy bumblebee flew out from behind an apple tree. Flying, buzzing.

Heard a flower that a bumblebee was approaching, and opened the petals. A bumblebee flew in and sat down between the petals. The poppy flower rejoices. After all, now there will be a full box of poppies. That is why the poppy has not opened its petals for so long. She was waiting for the bumblebee.

Who was waiting for the mountain ash

The leaves fell from the mountain ash. Only clusters of red fruits remained. They hang like beads. Beautiful, but bitter and tart. Whatever bird flies, tries - bitter - and flies further.

One morning, a beautiful song rang out over the mountain ash, as if a silver string was playing. Amazing crested birds have arrived. These are whistles. They flew in from the far north. That's who the mountain ash was waiting for! Joyfully she caressed the crested guests with her red berries. And none of the birds knew that the rowan berries had become sweet.

People say: from the cold. No, not from frost, but from grief. After all, the mountain ash waited so long for its dear guests, was sad, grieved, thought that they would not arrive. And the berries from grief became sweet.

snowflake and droplet

Alenka ran on the ice. Snowflakes were falling. It was like they were floating in the air. One snowflake fell on Alenka's sleeve. Alenka looks at a fluffy snowflake. Six-pointed star, so beautiful, shiny. As if a fairy-tale master carved it from a silver plate.

Alyonka tilted her face to the snowflake. Looks, admires her. And suddenly a miracle happened: the snowflake became a drop of water.

Carp in the aquarium

Petrik has a small aquarium at home. Goldfish live there. Petrik feeds them.

Once Petrik went to the pond. Caught a small crucian in a bowl. Brought it home and put it in the aquarium. He thinks that the carp will be good there.

Gives Petrik food to the fish. Goldfish eat, but crucians don't. Crawled into a corner to the very bottom and sits there.

Why don’t you eat, little carp?” asks Petrik.

Let me out into the pond, - asks the crucian, - otherwise I will die here.

Released Petrik carp into the pond.

flower and snow

It was in winter.

First grader Vera was sledding. Returning home, she found a broken twig near a lilac bush.

Vera took a twig and brought it home. She poured water into a jug, put a sprig of lilac in it.

A few days later, the buds blossomed, green leaves appeared.

Once Vera looked at a green twig and clasped her hands in joy. A purple flower bloomed between the leaves.

The girl put a jug with a green branch on the window.

It seemed to her that the twig looked fearfully at the snow carpet.

Vera carefully, carefully looked at the flower, and then at the snow and became sad.

How to fly a bumblebee?

A bumblebee flew into the class - yellow, furry. He flew around the class for a long time, and then flew to the window. He fought against the glass, cried, but he could not fly out.

When the children came to school, the bumblebee was quietly crawling on the glass. Sometimes he tried to take off, but the strength was gone.

A bumblebee crawls on glass. Nobody pays attention to the poor bumblebee. Only the smallest girl Nina looks at him intently, intently.

Nina wants to go up to the bumblebee, take it, put it on the palm of your hand, lift it up to the open window and let it out.

Nina is waiting for a break.

If only time would go faster.

If only the bell would ring faster.

Butterfly and flower

Someone threw a red flower into the water. A white butterfly flew over the pond and saw a red flower. She sat on it, sits, moves her wings. The flower floats and the butterfly floats.

A swallow flew over the water and was very surprised:

What it is? How did the butterfly learn to swim?

The swallow touched the water with its wing. The water stirred, the flower shuddered, the butterfly swayed.

It's fun for her to swim in the pond!

Everyone in the forest sings

In the spring we went to the forest.

The sun rose, a light breeze breathed, and all the trees in the forest began to sing.

Each sang their own song.

Birch sang a gentle song. Listening to her, I wanted to go up to the blonde beauty and hug her.

Oak sang a courageous song. When we listened to the oak song, we wanted to be strong and brave.

The willow that leaned over the pond sang a thoughtful song. Listening to the song of the willow, we thought that autumn would come and the leaves would fall from the trees.

Rowan sang an alarming song. From this song came to us the idea of ​​a dark night and a stormy thunderstorm, from which a thin mountain ash bends, hoping for the protection of the earth.

These are the songs we heard in the forest.

How poor are they...

It had not yet dawned, and the dawn had not yet risen, and his father woke Seryozha and said:

Let's go to the field. Let's listen to the song of the lark.

Seryozha quickly gets up, dresses, and they go to the field. The sky in the east turns pale, turns blue, then pink, the stars fade. Somewhere from a distant field, a gray lump rises and rushes up into the sky. Suddenly, a gray lump flares up like a spark among the azure, and at that moment the father and son hear amazing music. It is as if someone has pulled a silver string over the field, and the fiery bird, touching it with its wings, scatters magical sounds over the field.

Sergei held his breath. It occurred to him: if we were sleeping, would the lark still sing?

Tatu, - the boy whispered softly, - and those who are sleeping now, do not hear this music?

They don’t hear, - his father answered in a whisper.

How poor are they...

Why is the titmouse crying

A husband and wife lived in a house on the edge of the village. They had two children - a boy Misha and a girl Olya. Misha is ten years old, and Olya is nine. A tall, branchy poplar grew near the house.

Let's make a swing on the poplar, - said Misha.

Oh, how good it will swing! Olya rejoiced.

Misha climbed onto the poplar, tied a rope to the branches.

Misha and Olya got on the swing and let's swing.

Children are swinging, and near them the titmouse flies and sings, sings.

Misha says:

Titmouse is also having fun because we are swinging.

Olya looked at the trunk of the poplar and saw a hollow, and in the hollow there was a nest, and in the nest were small chicks.

Titmouse is not happy, but cries, - said Olya.

Why is she crying? Misha was surprised.

Think why, - answered Olya.

Misha jumped off the swing, looked at the titmouse's nest and thought: why is she crying?

White canvases

It was in autumn. Dawns shone. The forest was quiet. The birds fell asleep. Morozikha's grandmother came to the forest just before dawn. She brought white linens and spread them out on the green grass. Glades became white, even lightened in the forest. The gray owl looked at the white canvases, thought it was already morning, and hid under a twig.

The sky turned red in the east. The sun has risen. Where did the white canvases go? There are no canvases. Silver dew drops glitter on the grass. Where does Grandma Morozikha get so many white canvases? Will she bring them the next night too? And who weaves them - white linen?

How does a hamster prepare for winter?

A gray hamster lives in a deep hole. His coat is soft and fluffy. A hamster works from morning to evening, preparing for winter. He runs from the mink into the field, looking for spikelets, threshing grain from them, hiding it in his mouth. Behind his cheeks he has pouches for grain. He will bring the grain into the mink, pour it out of the bags. Runs back to the field. Few spikelets were left by people, it is difficult to prepare food for a hamster.

The hamster poured a full pantry of grain. Now the winter is not terrible.

Corncrake and Swallow

Autumn has come. Milky mists swirl. The earth freezes. Water cools down. The blue sky is getting cold. The Swallow flies to warmer climes. She has lagged behind the swallow wedge and is catching up. She sat down to rest in the meadows. The Swallow sees: the Corncrake is walking through the meadows. Slowly travels, not in a hurry.

Swallow asks:

Where are you going, Corncrake?

To warmer climes, the bird answers.

Swallow did not believe. Arrived in warmer climes. A week later, Corncrake came.

Do not be surprised, Swallow, - says Crake. - I walked day and night.

Sergey and Matvey

Two young men came to the flowering meadow - Sergey and Matvey.

What a beauty! - Sergei whispered. - Look, on a green carpet, as if someone wove pink, red, white, blue flowers.

Indeed, lush grass, - said Matvey. - Let the cow in here - by the evening there will be two buckets of milk.

And the bees ring like a harp, - Sergey whispered, captured by magical music.

And the hives would be taken out here ... Honey, how much honey would be applied! - Matvey said excitedly.

And there are people who do not see this beauty, - Sergei whispered.

I'm going to fetch a cow. Yes, and I’ll bring the beehives ... - said Matvey and went to the village.

How the hedgehog prepared for winter

A hedgehog lived in the forest. He built himself a house in the hollow of an old linden tree. It's warm and dry there. Here comes autumn. Yellow leaves are falling from the trees. Winter will come soon.

Hedgehog began to prepare for winter. He went into the forest, pricked dry leaves on his needles. He brought it to his house, spread the leaves, it became even warmer.

The Hedgehog went into the forest again. He collected pears, apples, rose hips. He brought it on pins and needles to the house, put it in a corner.

Once again the Hedgehog went to the forest. I found mushrooms, dried them and also put them in a corner.

Warm and cozy Hedgehog, but one is so sad. He wanted to find a friend. Went to the forest, met the Bunny. The Bunny does not want to go to the Hedgehog's house. And the Gray Mouse does not want, and the Gopher. Because they have their minks.

Met Hedgehog Cricket. Cricket sits on a stalk, shivering from the cold.

Come live with me, Cricket!

The Cricket jumped into the house to the Hedgehog - happy, happy.

Winter came. The hedgehog tells a fairy tale to the Cricket, and the Cricket sings a song to the Hedgehog.

fox lanterns

One day the cunning Chanterelle was returning home. She walked through the forest. It was night. It's dark in the forest - you can't see anything.

Chanterelle hit her forehead against the oak, and it hurt her so much. So she thinks: "It is necessary to somehow illuminate the road in the forest." Found a firefly stump. A firefly stump glows in the dark. Chanterelle took pieces of firefly stump and spread it on her way. White lights lit up. It became visible in the forest, even Sych was surprised: “What is this? Has the day come at night?

The sly Chanterelle walks through the forest and smiles.

And the Bunny hid behind the oak and looks out.

Oak under the window

A young forester built a large stone house in the forest and planted an oak tree under the window.

Years passed, the forester's children grew up, the oak tree grew, the forester grew old.

And after many years, when the forester became a grandfather, the oak grew so that it closed the window. It became dark in the room where the beauty lived - the forester's granddaughter.

Cut down the oak, grandfather, - the granddaughter asks, - it's dark in the room.

We'll start tomorrow morning, - answered the grandfather.

Morning has come. The grandfather called his three sons and nine grandchildren, called his beautiful granddaughter and said:

We will move the house to another place.

And he went with a shovel to dig a ditch under the foundation. Behind him are three sons, nine grandchildren and a beautiful granddaughter.

Lonely Rakita

On the bank of the pond grew a lonely Rakita. The leaves fell off her. Three naked twigs leaned towards the water itself. Rakita looks into the pond, as if into a mirror, and wonders: what are these three twigs?

What are these bare twigs? - asks Rakita. - Why are you sticking out in the water?

Yes, it's you, Rakita. This is your reflection.

Ah, what beautiful branches! - says Rakita. - I did not know that I was so beautiful.

How the Bunny basked in the moon

It's cold in winter for Bunny, especially at night. He ran out to the edge. Frost is crackling, the snow is shining under the moon, a cold wind is blowing from the ravine. Bunny sat down under a bush, stretched out his paws to the moon and asks:

Moon, dear, warm me with your rays, otherwise it will be a long time to wait for the Sun.

It was a pity for the Moon of the Bunny, she says:

Go through the field, through the field, I will light the way for you. Go straight to the big stack of straw.

Bunny went to a stack of straw, buried himself in the straw, looks out and smiles at the moon.

Thank you, dear Moon, now your rays are warm, warm.

savvy glazier

Yurko came in the morning to the pond and sees marvelously marvelous things. The whole pond is covered with thin glass. And under the glass, water splashes. Yurko asks Tata:

Who covered the pond with glass?

Tato laughs and says:

There is such a skillful, savvy glazier. He came and covered the pond with one huge glass. This glazier lives far from us, in the North. And now he has come to visit us.

Who is this glazier? - asked Yurko in surprise.

The lark helps the sun

Cold snow still lies in the dense forest and in the deep ravine. Sleeping snowdrop under last year's leaf. Blue ice on the pond.

Only on the slopes of the hills the snow melted, the streams ran. The earth began to smoke, the clear sun played in the blue sky.

A little girl Marinka came out of the hut and saw a gray bird in the sky. The bird sang, as if raising a silver bell on its wings, and it trembled, trembled.

Mom, what kind of bird is singing? - Marinka asked her mother.

A lark, - answered my mother.

Why did he arrive so early? Why is he singing so happily? There is still snow...

The lark helps the sun, - answered my mother.

How does he help? - Marinka was surprised.

When the skylark takes off into the blue sky, it becomes warmer.

lilac bush

A lilac bush grew near the pond. In spring, lilacs turn blue.

Whoever comes to the pond, looks at the lilac color - and smiles. Like a piece of blue sky on earth - such a lilac color.

But one day a gloomy man came to the pond. I broke several lilac branches and carried them somewhere.

Young tourists were on their way. We turned to the pond, washed, rested. Going further, they broke many, many flowering branches.

There was no flowering bush near the pond. And the blue sky seems to be getting smaller.

The people who come to the shore of the pond no longer smile. There were fewer smiles in the world.

Where did the ants go

A squirrel was sitting on a tree. She ate nuts. Delicious - the squirrel even closed his eyes. A crumb of a nut fell to the ground. Behind her is another, third ... A lot of crumbs fell.

And between the blades of grass an ant ran - she was in a hurry to get food for the little ants. She knew that watermelons had ripened on the melon.

Suddenly he sees crumbs falling from the tree. I tried it - it tastes good!

The ant brought a crumb to the anthill, called the neighbors: “Run, ants, nuts!”

Ants gathered on the road.

Little ants eat the crumbs that mom brought, and they treat their comrades. There was enough for all the children in the anthill, and there is more left.

And the ants are already under a big tree. They collected the crumbs and carried them home. Enough food for them now.

autumn outfit

When the sun begins to walk lower in the sky, a grandmother with a golden scythe wakes up in a dark forest. This grandmother's name is Autumn. She quietly walks through the green meadows. Where it stops, white ice crystals remain on the grass. People say in the morning: "Freeze".

Autumn is coming to the garden. He touches a tree with a golden scythe, and the leaves on it turn yellow, red, orange ... And in the morning people say: "Golden autumn." And in the afternoon, Autumn with a golden scythe hides in a dark forest. Waiting for the night.

How a brook watered a meadow chamomile

Chamomile grew in the meadow. A yellow flower bloomed on a tall stalk, like a small sun. The hot summer has come. The earth dried up. The daisy bowed its yellow head: “How will I live in dry land?”

A brook gurgled nearby. I heard a flower cry. It was a pity for the stream of chamomile. He ran to her, sang, played. He watered the earth, raised the yellow head of the chamomile, smiled.

Thanks, brook. Now I'm not afraid of the scorching sun.

Blade of grass and last year's leaf

Autumn frost hit. The green blade of grass withered, lay down on the ground. And a leaf from a tree fell on her. A blade of grass lies under a leaf. A blizzard blew, snow poured down. The grass became warm under the snow.

A blade of grass slept for a long, long time. Through a dream she hears: something sings over her, something rustles over the forest. A blade of grass wants to get up and can't. Dry leaf does not let. A blade of grass rallied with strength, rose, pierced last year's leaf with a sharp arrow. She looked and trembled with joy: birds sing in the trees, spring water rustles in the ravine, in the blue sky - the cry of a crane. “Yes, this is spring,” thought a blade of grass and rose even higher.

Willow cut down

Willow grew over the pond. On quiet summer mornings, she gazed into the water. The leaves neither stir nor whisper. And when birds landed on Verba, the leaves trembled. Then Verba was surprised: what kind of bird flew in?

One day a man with an ax came to the pond. He approached Verba, took aim, hit. Chips flew. Willow trembled, even groaned. And the leaves anxiously ask one another: “What is this person doing?”

Felled Willow. The pond is numb, the reeds are silent, the bird screamed in alarm. A gray cloud covered the sun, and everything around became gloomy.

A felled Willow lies. And the leaves whisper and ask Verba: “Why are we lying on the ground?”

Where the ax passed, Verba began to cry. Pure, transparent tears fell to the ground.

How the Lily-of-the-Valley Bee found

A bee flew out of the hive, circled over the apiary. He hears a bell ringing somewhere far, far away. The bee flew to the ringing of the bell. Arrived in the forest. In the meadow - lilies of the valley. Each flower is a small silver bell. In the middle is a golden hammer. A hammer strikes silver - a ringing is heard. You can hear it both in the steppe and in the apiary. This is how the Lily of the Valley calls the Bee.

The bee landed on the flower and took the nectar.

Thank you, Lily of the Valley, said the Bee.

The flower was silent. He couldn't speak. He just got embarrassed and lowered his head. The bee understood: it was Lily of the Valley who answered her gratitude.

The bee carried the nectar to the children.

And in a dream mother's hands smell

The Ant runs, hurries home, to the anthill, carries a crumb of sweet watermelon. Opens the door, enters the house. And in the anthill there are many, many small beds. And in every bed - an ant.

The Ant found her Ant in the crib. She sat at the head, hugs, kisses. And the Little Ant rejoices and in its own way, in an ant's way, babbles:

And I recognized you, mother. Your hands smell so sweet...

Mother Muravienka fed watermelon. The little one is full, smiling. Sleepy Ant. Quietly, so as not to wake the baby, Ant got up. I took the rest of the watermelon, put it in a jar - a reserve for the winter.

Ant ran into the forest again. And Little Ant lies in the crib and smiles. And in my sleep my mother's hands smell.

Firemane

Jure's father carved a horse out of wood. Sharp, hot. The horse beats with its hooves, the fiery mane flutters.

Yura named the horse Fireman. Can't part with it. Put it on the table, sit on the sidelines. And Yura imagines: Fireman is about to jump.

Yura went to bed, and put the horse on the floor, by the bed. Sleeping - not sleeping Yura and suddenly he sees: Fireman raised his head, started up and galloped, galloped.

Yura jumped up, wanted to run after Fireheart, but he was already standing by the bed again. Yura leaned over to the horse and stroked his head. Fireheart calmed down. Only his legs were trembling and his fiery mane was still warm.

He's just alive and handsome

A huge beautiful butterfly Machaon sat on a red canna flower. She sits down and moves her wings.

A boy crept up to Machaon and caught him. Machaon trembles, but cannot escape. The boy pinned it with a large pin to a sheet of paper. Butterfly porches drooped.

Why did you stop fluttering your wings, Swallowtail? - asks the boy.

Machaon is silent. The boy put the leaf with the dead Machaon on the windowsill. A few days later he looks - the porches have dried up and crumbled, ants are crawling along the abdomen.

No, he is only alive and beautiful, - said the dejected boy. - When his porches tremble on a canna flower, and not on a piece of paper.

hot flower

That year was early spring. In mid-April, the gardens bloomed. May has come:

One clear spring morning, the little girl Olya went into the garden and saw a large red rose flower. She ran to her mother and happily said:

Mom, the red rose has bloomed!

Mom came into the garden, looked at the red flower, smiled. Then she looked up at the sky, and her face became anxious.

A black cloud was moving in from the north. The wind blew, the cloud covered the sun, it got colder.

Mom and Olya sat in the room and anxiously looked out the window.

Like white butterflies, snow flew. Everything around turned white. The wind is quiet. The snowflakes fell softly to the ground and then stopped.

Mom and Olya went to the garden. Snow caps were whitening on the green leaves. The ground was covered with a snow-white carpet. Only the rose blushed like a big ember. There were drops of dew on it.

She is hot, she is not afraid, - Olya said and smiled happily.

It's the sun!

It was a clear summer day. The teacher led the little children into the forest.

The forest was large and silent. The trees stood slender and tall, like huge candles. Thick leaves blocked out the sun. There was darkness in the forest.

The children walked and walked. It seemed that there would be no end to the forest. Something hummed softly above their heads.

What is that noise? - the children asked.

It is the tops of the trees who are talking, - the teacher answered. - They are glad that they see the sun.

Suddenly the children stopped. On the thick trunk of a hundred-year-old oak, they saw something bright and shiny.

What is it? - the children were surprised.

It's the sun! - answered the teacher. - Look from here, see how bright it is?

The children, one by one, stood near the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak and admired the sun.

Violet and Bee

Violet grew in the forest on the green edge. She looked at the world with her purple eye, every morning she smiled at the sun.

And in a forest clearing, not far from the forest edge, a bee lived in a hive.

Bee and Violet made friends. Many times a day the Bee flew to the Violet - took pollen and nectar. Violet was looking forward to her girlfriend.

But then one day a Bee flew in and saw that Violet was sad, her petals turned pale.

Why are you sad, Violet? Why are your petals turning pale? Why don't you have pollen or nectar?

I'm dying, whispered Violet.

What does it mean: I'm dying? - the Bee was surprised.

This means that I will no longer see the sky or the sun.

And where will the sky and the sun be? - Bee was even more surprised.

They will be here, but I will not be...

Although Bee did not understand why Violet would not be, she became sad.

Lily and Moth

Lily grows on a quiet pond - white, beautiful flower. All day its petals bask in the sun.

Evening was approaching. The sun was setting. The sky turned purple, and everything around was dyed purple.

Suddenly, a Moth sat on the delicate petal of the Lily.

Let me spend the night on your petal, - asked the Moth.

Dear Moth, I would be glad to give you shelter, but I cannot; at night I go under the water.

Why? - Moth was surprised.

I have a soft bed there, - answered Lily. - But tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises, I will get up. Come to me, Moth.

The white lily folded its petals and quietly sank into the depths. And the Moth flew ashore.

In the morning, as soon as the sun rose, Lily got out of bed and opened the petals. She was waiting for the Moth. But he didn't fly. She waited for him all day, but Moth was not there. He arrived in the evening, when the sun was setting over the horizon; and the whole world turned purple again. And Lily said through her tears:

I've been waiting for you all day. And now I have to go underwater.

The moth flapped its wings and flew ashore. And Lily looked at the darkening sky for a long time. And her heart sank in pain.

How Squirrel Woodpecker Saved

In the middle of winter it got warmer, it began to rain, and then frost hit again. The trees were covered with ice, the cones on the fir trees were iced over. There is nothing for the Woodpecker: no matter how much it knocks on the ice, it will not reach the bark. No matter how much it hits a cone with its beak, the grains do not peel off.

The Woodpecker sat on a spruce and cries. Hot tears fall on the snow, freeze.

I saw the Squirrel from the nest - the Woodpecker is crying. Jump, jump, galloped to the Woodpecker.

Why are you, Woodpecker, crying?

Nothing to eat, Squirrel...

It was a pity for the Squirrel Woodpecker. She took out a large fir cone from the hollow. I put it between the trunk and the branch. The Woodpecker sat down near the bump and began to thresh with its beak.

And Squirrel sits near the hollow and rejoices. And the squirrels in the hollow rejoice. And the sun rejoices.

Smells like apples

Quiet autumn day. Bumblebees hum in the apple orchard. They flew to an apple that fell from a tree and lies on the ground. Sweet juice flows from an apple. Bumblebees covered the apple. Sun village. And in the garden, apples warmed by the sun smell. Somewhere a cricket sang. Suddenly, an apple fell to the ground from an apple tree - boom ... The cricket fell silent. A frightened bird flew by. Somewhere beyond the forest, a star lit up in the night sky. The cricket sang again.

Already a month is floating in the sky, and the apples still smell of the hot sun.

Sunflowers during a thunderstorm

Heavy black clouds covered the sun. It was dark and gloomy in the field. The forest is black, silent, as if waiting for something warily. The yellow wheat field turned gray. The alarmed lark fell from the sky to the field and fell silent.

Only a field of blooming sunflowers burns and blazes. It is as if light is pouring from them, and above the earth it is not so gloomy. The solar fire burns in the flowers, reminds that the sun is behind the clouds. The lightning will break the cloud, the blue sky will look out. The field will laugh joyfully again.

Lilac grove in the ravine

In the middle of the steppe is an old ravine. The slopes of the ravine are overgrown with grass. And at the bottom - what is it blue? We look from afar at the bottom of the ravine and see - an azure-blue river winds. What same water clean - as if the sky! I would like to get closer to her.

We go down to the bottom of the ravine. What is it? This is not a river, but lilac bushes. Someone planted a lot of lilac bushes at the bottom of the ravine. They grew up and took root. The lilac blossomed, and it seems from a distance that this is a river.

shepherd oak

At the edge stands a lone oak tree. Strong, stocky. Old, like a grandfather-shepherd. Probably, he grew up at the edge of the forest to see how his brothers grow in the forest.

A thunderstorm rumbled over the forest on a summer day. A fiery arrow struck an oak tree. Branches trembled. The top lit up. It was raining, and the oak was burning, burning ... The top was burned. The forest is sad: who will be my shepherd now?

But the oak didn't die. A year later, young shoots turned green where the branches burned. The old oak tree was covered with curly leaves. But the top was dry. Storks flew from the warm land. We saw a dry top. Sat down and made a nest. The old oak rejoiced. Now he is not alone. When the sun sets below the horizon, the stork stands on one leg in the nest and looks somewhere far, far away. Where the sun has set. He's watching to see if there's a thunderstorm. The stork stands calmly. And the oak sighs calmly. It rustles with green leaves and falls asleep.

How the Nightingale waters her children

Nightingale has three chicks in the nest. All day long Nightingale brings them food - insects, flies, spiders. The nightingales have eaten, they are sleeping. And at night, before dawn, they ask to drink. Nightingale flies into the grove. On the leaves - pure, pure dew. Nightingale finds the purest drop of dew, takes it in his beak and flies to the nest, brings his children to drink. Puts a drop on a leaf. Nightingales drink water. And at this time, the sun is rising. Nightingale flies again for insects.

Green Spit and Red Pantry

Grandma put a carrot seed in the ground. A warm spring rain has fallen. The grain has grown. A red root went to the ground, and a green arrow reached for the sun. Both the root and the stalk grow and grow.

It rains, the earth drinks water. The green arrow turned into a curly braid. And the spine is getting fatter and fatter. Soon he became like a stalk, and then - like a small barrel - round, red. No matter how much it rains, but the red spine is not enough and not enough. One day the Green Scythe asks:

What is there below me, in the ground? No matter how much it rains, you can't get drunk.

And from under the ground the answer is heard:

I am the Red Storeroom. I have a lot of sugar.

That's how? - Green Spit was surprised. - It's no coincidence that children admire me - Green Spit. They pull the scythe - they get to the sweet Pantry.

Frost and Chamomile

Autumn Frost came on a clear moonlit night. He went to the rose bush, breathed cold. Rose petals fell to the ground. Leaves curled up.

Frost went to the meadow. Where he passed - the grass turned yellow. He went up to the green maple, breathed - the leaves turned yellow. I sat down to rest under the mountain ash - the leaves turned crimson, like the sky at sunset before a windy day.

Frost walked for a long time through the gardens and fields. But I forgot to go to little flower Daisies. She stands near the road, stretches her white petals to the sun. He looks at the poplar and wonders: why did the leaves on the poplar turn yellow?

The sun has risen. Caresses the white Chamomile with its rays.

And she smiles.

morning lightning

One by one, the stars in the sky fade. The blue sky at sunrise turned blue, and then a pink stripe rose from the horizon and spilled over the entire sky. At that moment everything turned pink - the water in the pond and the dew drops on the grass. And the fog that spread in the valley, also pink, a lark flew high into the sky and whined, sang. The sun has already lit up his little wings. And the wings turned pink. Soon the sun will rise from the horizon. The lark sings: I already see the sun!

bee music

From morning to evening, bee music rings in the apiary.

Close your eyes and hear the string ringing. Where is this string? Maybe in the hives? Maybe the bees are sitting there and playing some unusual instrument? After all, music is ringing everywhere - and near the beehives, and in the garden, and in flowering buckwheat. The whole world is singing. And the blue sky, and the sun - everything sings.

Or maybe thin strings in flowers? Maybe the sun pulled them between the petals? A bee will fly to the flower, sit between the petals and play on those little strings with little paws.

spring wind

Maple slept all winter. Through the slumber he heard the howl of a blizzard and the disturbing cry of a black crow. The cold wind shook the trunk, bent the branches to the ground.

But one sunny morning he feels a maple tree: something warm and tender has touched it. It was the spring wind.

Sleep well, - the warm spring wind whispered, - wake up, spring is coming.

Where is she, spring? - asked the maple.

I flew from afar, from the shores of the southern sea. Spring-red goes through the fields, cleans the earth with flowers. And the swallows on their wings carry multi-colored ribbons.

That's what the spring wind told the maple.

Maple sighed, straightened his shoulders, opened green buds - waiting for spring-red.

Flute and Wind

In the garden the Musician played the Flute. Birds, trees, and flowers listened to his wonderful song. Even the Wind lay down under a bush and listened with surprise to the flute. The musician played about the sun in the blue sky, about a white cloud, about a gray bird - a lark, and about happy children's eyes.

The song is silent. The Musician put the Flute on the bench and went into the house. The Wind rose from under the bush, flew up to the Flute and blew with all its might.

The Flute hummed like an autumn storm. The Wind blew even stronger, but the Flute does not play, but buzzes, buzzes.

“Why is this so?” Thinks the Wind. “After all, I can easily uproot an oak with roots, throw off the roof of a house. Why does the Flute not obey me - does not play?

How the River became angry with the Rain

The River was proud: “Look how wide, full-flowing I am, what green banks I have. And the sun is reflected in me, as in a mirror. And the trees are green, and the sky is blue.

Suddenly clouds covered the sky, and a gray rain fell. There goes a day, two, three. The river turned gray, the banks became gray. The whole world has turned gray. River angry:

How long are you going to squish, unfortunate Dozhdishko ?! You made me ugly.

rain and says:

If it were not for me, gray, you would not be wide, full-flowing.

That's how we don't have to forget where we're coming from.

Curious Woodpecker

The woodpecker had four chicks in the nest. One of them is so restless. Looks out of the nest, he wants to know everything:

What's behind the nest?

You will grow up, fly - and you will see what is behind the nest.

But the restless Woodpecker did not want to listen to his mother, leaned out of the nest and fell to the ground. Sits in the grass and cries.

The mother came to the chick. “How can I save you, naughty son? Sit on my back, grab the feathers with your beak and hold on tight. Dyatlik sat on his mother's back, clung to the feathers with his beak. The mother flew, carried her child. Brought to the nest, asks:

Will you pop out of the nest?

I won’t,” said the weeping Woodpecker and raised his head to look out of the nest.

No one can kill the song!

In the Land of Green Meadows lived a merry folk-singer. He grew bread and sang songs. Each had a small flute.

But in the Land of Green Meadows, the Live-Eater, the Hater of Joy, came from somewhere. As soon as someone sings or plays the flute, he creeps up from behind, grabs a song - and into his mouth. That's why they called him Live-eater. Where it passes, songs die.

All the songs were swallowed by Zhivoed. There was only one flute left in the Land of Green Meadows. The little boy buried it in the ground, saying in a whisper:

Shut up, and then you and I will defeat the Live-Eater.

Everything is silent in the Land of Green Meadows. Live-eater rejoices - Hater of Joy. And the sun faded...

Suddenly, where the boy buried the flute, wheat turned green and began to sprout. The ears sang like a flute. The whole earth sings, the sky sings, the whole Land of Green Meadows sings. The people rejoiced, cut out new pipes and began to play again.

And the Live-Eater - the Hater of Joy lay in the sun, overeating songs. Hearing how everyone sings, he burst with anger.

Like sparrows waiting for the sun

Sparrow sits with her chicks in the nest. The sun has risen. It seemed from behind the horizon - big, red. Children ask:

What is it, mom?

This is the sun, - Sparrow answers. - When it rises, then the day comes. Insects crawl out of their minks.

How good it is, the sun! - chirped the chicks.

Sparrow flew out of the nest, brought worms. The children ate and again ask: "Fly for the worms, because the sun is shining."

Sparrow flew again for insects. Brought, swallowed the chicks and ask again. The whole day, while the sun was shining, Sparrow flew for food.

The night has come. The chicks fell asleep. And before dawn they woke up and asked:

Mom, fly after the insects.

And my mother replies:

The sun hasn't risen yet.

The children have been waiting for the sun for a long time. Finally, it appeared over the horizon. And mom immediately flew after the worms.

Near the pond

A hot July day has passed. The sun is setting. We are sitting on the bank of the pond. The water is still like a mirror. It reflects the blue sky. You look into the water and see the sun. Here it touched the pond, and in an instant the water flared up, became a fiery river. The flaming solar circle descends more and more into the depths of the water. And the pond is on fire. Hid, the sun went down, and the fiery river suddenly went out. The mirror turned a soft blue.

It was getting dark outside, the stars twinkling in the sky. The water in the pond turned blue. Already the stars twinkled in the depths of the pond.

Above the pond is an old, old willow. She bent over the water - not a leaf rustles, not a twig sways. The willow looks at itself in the water and grieves: the hot summer will pass, the leaves will fall, black clouds will approach.

Do not be sad, willow! The pond will freeze, you will be covered with snow. And you will wait for spring.

Spas frogs

It was a rainy spring. There was a big puddle outside. Petrik, a third-grade student, saw small tadpoles swimming in a puddle.

"Where did they come from?" he thought.

After the rains came the hot summer. There was not a single cloud in the sky. The puddle quickly dried up. There is very little water left now. Once Petrik saw how in a small puddle that had not yet dried up, a dozen or two frogs gathered. They were small, small.

“The frogs are hot,” thought Petrik. “But what will happen when the puddle is completely dry? They will die."

Petrik felt sorry for the frogs. And he decided to save them. He went home, took a bucket, collected the little frogs in a bucket and took them to the pond. Released into the water. The frogs swam.

“Now they will not die,” Petrik rejoiced.

Autumn Oak

At the edge stands an old, old Oak. He sees branched lindens, and thick-set birch bark, and melodious maples. He also sees a wide field, and on it is a tractor that plows a field.

All the trees have already dropped their leaves to the ground. One Oak stands on the edge in its colorful decoration. Proud of crimson, yellow, red leaves. He sat on the Oak Woodpecker and asked:

Oak, why don't you drop your outfit? Already winter is behind the mountains, snow is beyond the seas.

Dub answers:

I don't want to part with my clothes. Let winter look at my outfit.

So winter has come because of the distant mountains. She covered the earth with a white carpet. Oak is standing in his festive attire - even winter was surprised at first, and then admired his magnificent and colorful outfit.

Who lit the candles on the chestnut trees?

Little Marinka went with her mother to the forest. It was May, everything was green. Marinka glanced at the green branches of the chestnut trees. Her eyes lit up with joy.

Look, mother, the girl says, candles are burning on the chestnuts. Who lit them up?

We'll come in the morning, we'll see, - my mother smiled.

Early in the morning, through the cold dew, mother and Marinka came to the forest. Little Marinka looks at the green crown of chestnuts. He sees - the squirrel is jumping. Oh, but it was the squirrel who lit the candles on the chestnuts! And who gave her the spark? Sun. It rose and extended a hot spark to the squirrel. She lit the candles on the chestnut trees.

Unusual hunter

Grandfather Maxim lives in our village. Everyone talks about him: grandfather is a hunter. As soon as hunting for hares or ducks begins, grandfather goes into the forest with a gun every day. Leaves the house early in the morning and returns in the evening.

But what an unusual hunter! Grandfather Maxim never brings home either a hare or a duck. Comes with an empty bag. Once Grandfather Maxim brought home a little bunny. Found it under a bush. The bunny had a broken leg. Grandfather made a tire out of two branches, bandaged the leg. A week later, the leg grew together, and the grandfather took the bunny to the field.

Why is grandfather Maxim such a loser?

Once the children went after their grandfather, I wanted to see how he hunts. They see: grandfather put a gun under a bush, and he himself walks through the forest and lays out hay for hares under the bushes.

The children understood why grandfather Maxim is such an unusual hunter.

Dew drops on a flower

Blooming red poppy. Dew fell during the night. The Flower woke up in the morning, saw Droplets of Dew on its petals.

Droplets answer:

We are born from the warm night wind. We are Dewdrops.

Flower was surprised. See what the Dewdrops will do. And they sit on the petals. The sun rose, and in each droplet a small sun also lit up.

The sun was rising above the earth. The dewdrops were getting smaller and smaller. Here they are, one by one, began to disappear.

Where are you running away from me? - the Flower was upset.

To the sun, to the sun! - answered the Dewdrops.

A bee flew into the classroom

It was a warm sunny autumn. The windows are open in the third grade. The class is quiet. The teacher called Natasha to the board. She has to write a sentence about autumn rain. To correctly spell the word "autumn."

Suddenly they all heard the buzzing of a bee. She flew into the classroom and began flying around the classroom. We put down our pens, held our breath, and began to follow the bee. She flew up to the table, then to the wall. I didn't see any open windows. We wanted to say: “Why don’t you fly to the window?” But we were afraid to say the word, so as not to frighten the bee.

So she circled around the table and flew out the window. We breathed a sigh of relief. The sun shone in the courtyard. Natasha smiled at the blackboard and wrote: "Autumn sun."

Field and Meadow

For a long time they have lived near the Field and the Meadow. From early spring to late autumn, a man comes to the field. Plows the land, sows, pulls out weeds, harvests, plows again. He rejoices when the Field gives birth to spiked wheat.

And grass grows in the Meadow. Flowers bloom in spring, bees fly. Cows and sheep graze from spring to late autumn. The meadow turns green from spring to autumn.

Once Pole asks Lug:

Tell me, Meadow, why doesn't anyone plow and sow you, and why do you turn green from spring to autumn?

Lugh answers:

The spring water makes me drink. She gives me strength.

Pole says:

And I turn green, because human labor sows me.

sun flower

On a tall stem is a large flower with golden petals. He looks like the sun. That is why the flower is called Sunflower. The Sunflower sleeps at night, tilting its golden petals. But as soon as the morning dawn rises, the petals tremble. This Sunflower is waiting for the sunrise. Finally, the sun appeared over the horizon. The sunflower turns its golden head towards him and looks, looks at the red fiery circle. Sunflower smiles at the sun, rejoices. Salute the sun, says:

Hello sunshine, I've been waiting for you at night for so long.

The sun rises higher and higher, floats across the sky. And the Sunflower turns its golden head after him. Now it is already going beyond the horizon, and the Sunflower smiles for the last time at its golden rays. The sun has set.

The Sunflower turns its head to where the sun will rise tomorrow. The golden flower sleeps and dreams of the morning dawn.

How we found a nest in the forest

On a warm spring day, we went to the forest. Expensive tired, sat down under the trees to rest. We sit next to a bush. Suddenly Olya quietly whispers:

Look, in the depths of the bush - a nest!

We saw nearby, very close, a small nest. And the bird sits in the nest: a small, gray bird. He looks at us with red eyes, as if asking: "Oh, move away from me, do not come close to my nest."

We couldn't take our eyes off the little bird. And then they quietly got up, moved away from the bush. We went to the forest thickets, sat far from the nest. Our hearts became lighter: we did not frighten the bird. She sits in the nest and thanks us.

Spring day in the forest

A green snowdrop has broken through last year's dry leaf. Sharp as an arrow. Straightened out the leaves. Between them, two blue eyes trembled - two flowers. We looked at the flowers around. What did they see?

A big red circle, like a ball of fire.

What is it?” Blue Eyes asked.

This is the sun, - Bumblebee answered them.

Then Blue Eyes saw tall trees, a blue sky, a wedge of cranes in the sky.

The sun rose higher and higher, now it is in the middle of the sky. Then it began to descend to the ground and changed color.

Why did this sun turn red? Blue Eyes asked.

So it says goodbye to the earth, - the Wasp told them.

The sun is hidden. It got dark.

Why did it get dark? - Blue Eyes asked in fright. - We are scared.

Don't be afraid, - said little Komarik. - It's the end of the day. Sleep. The night will pass and the day will come again.

Morning in the apiary

On a sunny spring morning, a bee flew out of the hive. She circled over the apiary and flew up. He looks - something turns white on the ground. The bee has landed. This apple tree is in bloom. The bee found the most fragrant flower, sat on its petals and drinks sweet juice. I got drunk myself, and I also scored for my children. She got up and flew again. It flies over the meadow, suddenly sees: on the green carpet there are many yellow flowers. The bee went down. A dandelion blossoms in front of her. The flowers are big and so fragrant. The bee has found the most fragrant flower. Sat on the petals. Got a lot of honey.

The bee returned to the apiary. Met with my girlfriend. I told her about the apple tree and the dandelion. The bees took the honey to the hive, poured it into small bowls and flew again.

And the sun shone over the whole world. It warmed the apple tree, the green meadow, and the pond. And the bees sang joyfully because the sun is shining.

Evening dusk

When the sun sets, evening twilight sets in. Everything that surrounds us begins to live its wonderful, fabulous life.

Far, far away in the steppe stands a mound. As soon as the steppe covers the evening twilight, it is no longer a barrow. This is a small island. He stands in the middle of the sea. Wheat waves caress the shore of a small island.

Near the outskirts of the village are three stacks of hay. In the evening twilight they are no longer haystacks, but large ships with purple sails. They swam in the boundless ocean and now they nailed to the village.

And the green forest is no longer a forest, but frozen waves. Green sea waves. They only appear to be trees.

From a deep ravine, dusk spread across the steppe, through the village, all over the world.

Spring rain

It was a warm spring day. Ant ran out of the anthill and ran to the high poplar with her path. She ran to the poplar, climbed up the trunk. On poplar leaves - small sweet droplets. Ant crawled out onto a leaf, took a sweet drop in her paws, put it on her back. She was about to return home when she suddenly hears: thunder rumbled. Large drops of warm spring rain are falling. The Ant was frightened: “Will the rain wash away the sweet drop? What will I bring to my children? Ant hid under the bark. Sits and listens. And the rain is roaring, roaring.

Finally the rain stopped. Ant looked out and saw: the sun was shining. She got out of a secluded place, climbed down from a tree. I found my path, I returned home. And there the ants were waiting for her. Ant gave the children a sweet drop of poplar juice. I divided it among all the children, I also left myself.

oriole nest

The oriole has colorful colorful plumage. When you look at the oriole, you remember the rainbow: in her outfit there are red, and orange, and yellow, and gray feathers.

The oriole made its nest in the thicket, on a thorn bush. Brought out the chicks. Flew to warmer climes for the winter.

Winter was cold. Someone cut down a thorn bush.

The oriole arrives in spring from warm lands, but there is no thorn bush. The oriole flew over the place where the bushes grew. There were thickets, and now weeds are growing. Oriole became sad. The bird sat down on a dry twig that was left of a thorn bush, and sang sadly, sadly. It was she who cried.

Where will the oriole nest now?

Willow - like a golden-haired girl

A weeping willow stands over the pond. She tilted her green branches and looks into the water. The wind is dying - branches are swaying, like Maiden's braids.

Near the very trunk a small bird made a nest. As soon as she flew out of her warm nest, the green braids trembled. It was the willow listening to the birdsong.

Autumn came. The cold wind gilded the willow branches. The girl became golden. And the bird was gone. Where did she go? Flew to warmer climes - far, far beyond the sea. In the spring she will greet, and the willow will stop being sad. Braids will turn green again, a happy girl will wake up early in the morning. And the bird will also be happy, because she is at home, in her homeland. After all, the Motherland is the most precious thing for us. There is nothing more precious than the motherland.

And now the golden-haired girl is sad. Quiet over the pond. A golden leaf fell and floated somewhere far, far away. Willow sighed.

forest in spring

The forest woke up after a long winter sleep. Buds have opened on hazel and birch, on maple and linden. Small bright green leaves stretched towards the warm sun. They are fragrant and sticky, spring leaves. A drop of dew falls on a small leaf and trembles, trembles.

It does not rustle in the branches, but quietly rustles. These are twigs swaying, one leaf wants to touch another, but cannot. Twigs are ringing like a magic forest flute. A woodpecker is knocking somewhere on the trunk, an oriole is singing.

And what is it ringing in the depths of the forest? We go, listening to the quiet ringing. We see a stream in a deep ravine. This is what he calls. We went out to the edge - a wide field stretched out in front of us. And above the field and above the forest - the blue spring sky. And a white cloud.

Only the oak sleeps. What are you waiting for, oak? Probably the first thunderstorm. She will wake you up from your sleep.

autumn maple

We went into the forest to look at the fall trees. We stopped near a tall maple. Sat down. What beauty has opened before us! There is a maple in bright, colorful decoration, and the leaves do not tremble or whisper.

Look, children: the maple is sleeping. And he dreams of everything he saw from spring to autumn. Here is a yellow leaf - like a dandelion flower. In spring, the maple was enchanted and amazed by the beauty of the dandelion flower. Remember this beauty. I fell asleep, remembering the dandelion - the leaf turned yellow.

And there, you see, a leaf - like a morning dawn - pink and affectionate. And this one is like an evening glow before a windy day.

You see, but on this branch the leaf is bright and beautiful, like an oriole's wing. Probably, an oriole once sat here, and now the maple dreamed of its wing.

We held our breath, looking at the beauty. Everyone was silent, as if they were afraid to disturb the magical maple dream.

Willow over the pond

Little Oksanka was walking near the pond. She picked up a willow twig on the shore, stuck it into the damp earth. And she went home. Soon Oksanka's parents left for the city. The girl went to school there.

Ten years have passed. Oksanka arrived in her native village. She was already a tall girl with a black braid. Oksanka came to the bank of the pond again. I saw a tall, branched willow bending over the water. Oksana was surprised:

Willow, where did you come from?

You planted me with a small twig, - Verba answered.

How big you have become, - said Oksanka. - I didn’t recognize you.

And I recognized you,” Verba whispered gratefully.

How autumn begins

Autumn is the daughter of Santa Claus. The eldest daughter, because he also has a younger daughter - Spring. At Autumn, the braids are trimmed with wheat spikelets and red viburnum berries. Walks Autumn meadows, banks. Where he breathes, there will blow cold. Loves Autumn at night to sit on the shore of the pond. And in the morning a gray fog rises over the water and does not disperse for a long time. This is how Autumn begins.

Birds are afraid of autumn. As soon as the swallows see her, they flock and whisper anxiously about something. And the cranes rise high into the sky and chirp anxiously.

Loves Autumn to come into the gardens. He touches the apple tree - the apples turn yellow.

And woodpeckers rejoice when they meet Autumn: they scream loudly, fly from place to place, look for food in the trees.

Today is a warm, sunny day. The sun is low - it shines, but not very warm. Santa Claus's eldest daughter sat down under a haystack, untwisted her braid, warmed herself. Sings a song about silver cobwebs.

Ants and pumpkin seed

Ants found a pumpkin seed in the garden. Fragrant, tasty, but very heavy. You need to bring a grain to the anthill, how can you leave such wealth? And the anthill is far, far away, in the forest, behind high mountains and wide valleys. One ant barely lifted a pumpkin seed onto its back. Friends ran after him - the whole ant family. The ant got tired, put a seed, it was immediately picked up by another ant.

So in turn they carried and carried a pumpkin seed - through the high mountains and wide valleys. When the sun went down, they brought the seed into the anthill. Brought - and again to the garden. Maybe there is still the same grain?

dew drop

Early in the morning a drop of dew woke up on a rose flower. “How did I get here? Drop thinks. - In the evening I was high in the sky. How did I get to earth?

And she wanted to go back to heaven.

The sun warmed up. The Drop evaporated, rose high, high into the blue sky, to the very Sun. There are thousands of other drops. They gathered in a black cloud and closed the Sun.

Why did you close me from people? Sunshine got angry. And sent a fiery arrow to the cloud. A fiery arrow struck, thunder rumbled. The black cloud was frightened and scattered. Rain is coming. The droplet fell to the ground.

Thank you, Droplet, - said the Earth. - I missed you so much.

evening dawn

The sun has gone over the horizon. Where is it, what does it do when we have night?

Here the fiery disk touched the horizon. The sun has already disappeared behind the mountain. And the sky is on fire. Why is it so?

Here's why. The Sun has a garden where it rests at night. There is a big lake in that garden. Not water in that lake, but molten gold. Because the Sun is also made of molten gold. Here the Sun lays down to rest in the fiery lake. Straightens his mighty shoulders. It will stir, stir up the water in the lake. Fiery splashes fly, crumble in a golden rain. The blue sky lights up with a scarlet dawn. The evening scarlet dawn burns until the Sun calms down.

Grandfather Autumn

Grandfather Osennik lives in a dark forest. He sleeps on dry foliage and listens sensitively to the birds singing. As soon as he hears the sad song of the cranes - kurly-kurly, he rises and says:

My time has come. Cranes fly away to a warm land.

Grandfather Osennik comes out of the forest, gray-haired, in a gray cloak. Where it passes, the leaves turn yellow and fall to the ground. He goes out to the edge, sits down, leans against the oak and sings something softly. This is not a song, but an autumn wind ... When he sings, his beard grows, flutters in the wind. Here she is already stretched out in the meadow. The meadow turned gray.

Autumn fog, people say.

They don’t even know that this is the beard of grandfather Osennik.

wolfberry bush

The leaves fell from the trees, the grass faded. The bare, transparent forest is chilly, cold. The wind blows through it. You can not hear the cheerful conversation of the children. There is nothing to go to the forest for: there are no porcini mushrooms, no black thorn berries, no sour rose hips.

There is only one Bush of wolfberries on the edge. Sharp green leaves, like tin, and branches hung with red clusters. He admires himself Bush: “That's how beautiful I am!”

The fields and trees were covered with snow. And the bunches on the Wolfberry Bush are turning red. Neither a woodpecker, nor a thrush, nor a magpie sit on the Bush.

Why don't you try my berries, birds? asks Wolfberry Bush.

Because they are poisonous, the birds answer.

And why are they so beautiful?

The poisonous is often beautiful.

bird pantry

In the early autumn, the chirping of birds did not stop in the steppe. The birds flocked to the compressed field, pecking at the grains.

And at the edge of the forest stood Rowan. Red bunches of berries ripened on it. Rowan wonders why no birds fly to her.

A thrush flew, Rowan asked:

Drozd, why don't you want to taste my berries?

Wait, Ryabinushka, your berries will come in handy for the most difficult time. On your branches is our bird pantry.

The snow has fallen. The fields were covered with a white carpet. The grass was covered in snowdrifts. Day and night the cold wind sings its mournful song.

Rowan woke up early in the morning from the chirping of birds. She sees - thrushes and woodpeckers flew to her.

Now the bird pantry is needed, - Drozd chirped. - Treat us, Ryabinushka, with your berries.

Sunshine and Ladybug

climbed in autumn Ladybug under the bark of a tree. An insect sleeps for itself, it is not afraid of either severe frosts or burning winds. The Ladybug is sleeping, and she dreams of a warm sunny day, a light cloud in the blue sky, a bright rainbow.

It was a warm sunny day in the middle of winter. Quiet in the forest, no wind. The sun warmed the black bark. It became hot for the Ladybug. She woke up, yawned sweetly, looked out from under the bark. She wanted to spread her wings and fly, but the Sun threatened her:

Don't get out, Ladybug! Hide in your warm bed. Too early for you to fly - you will die. My rays are warm, but the insidious frost will kill you. There will also be blizzards, and icy winds, and bitter frosts.

I listened to the good advice of Ladybug. breathed fresh air and crawled back into her warm bed.

swans fly away

Quiet autumn evening. The village behind the mountains is the sun. The sky is purple at sunset - tomorrow there will be wind. And it's quiet today.

Suddenly, from behind the forest, an alarming cry is heard: kurly-kurly. A flock of swans is flying high in the sky. Why are they screaming so anxiously?

It seems that they are taking something away from their native land. I remembered a fairy tale that my grandmother told: when swans fly away, they sow sadness on the earth with their wings. I peer into the flying flock. Purple reflections of the evening dawn play on thin swan wings. Is sadness purple? After all, it is azure, lilac, like high mounds in the steppe.

And when the swans return, what do they sow with their wings?

Joy!

How Hedgehog caressed her children

Hedgehog had two hedgehogs - round, like balls, with small needles. Once the balls-hedgehogs rolled to look for prey. Rolling in the garden, rolling in the garden, they saw the Bunny. Bunny eats sweet carrots. Hedgehogs also wanted to try carrots. They just stuck out their little heads, and the Bunny screamed:

Get out of here, you nasty, prickly ones!

The hedgehogs rolled up to their mother, crying.

Why are you crying children? Mom asks.

The bunny says that we are nasty, prickly, - they say crying hedgehogs.

The hedgehog pressed the little children, caressed them:

But are you prickly, my dear children, - she says. - Your hair is soft, like flax. You are fluffy, round, like balls.

Kukushkino grief

The cuckoo lays eggs in other people's nests. When cuckoo chicks hatch, they throw their host chicks out of the nest.

Why are you so cruel, Cuckoo? Why don’t you build your nest and don’t breed chicks? - Wind-Storm asked the Cuckoo.

Listen, Wind, - answered the Cuckoo. - In vain they consider me cruel. As soon as the forest turns green, caterpillars crawl out of their pupae. Many caterpillars appear in the forest - large, hairy, green, poisonous. No bird eats them, but I do. If I had not eaten these predators, the forest would have died. They would eat all the leaves of the caterpillar. Once I bring out the chicks ...

This is what the Cuckoo told the Wind-Storm. She told and got upset.

Why do you sing so plaintively? - asked the Wind-Storm.

I'm sad about my children, - answered the Cuckoo.

But you don't feed them, - said Wind-Storm, - they are fed by other birds.

I save the forest for them, - said the Cuckoo quietly.

What happened to my kids?

Ten duck eggs were placed under the mother hen. She sat on them for a long time, waiting for the kids. Little yellow chicks hatched. They immediately wanted to walk. The hen led them into the yard. She led to the dunghill, began to row and call the chicks, and they look away. We saw a pond, ran to it, jumped into the water and swam.

The mother hen cackled anxiously, looks at her floating babies, shouts:

Come back! After all, you will drown!

But the chicks do not seem to hear. After all, these are not chickens, but ducklings. They swam for a long time, only to return to the shore in the evening. The mother hen waited patiently for them. After waiting, she took her home. Leads and reproaches:

How disobedient you are. And who taught you to swim? Neither father nor mother swim, but you swim. I won't let you into the pond again.

And the ducklings squeak to her in response:

Mom, tomorrow we will swim together. How good it is in the water!

The mother hen looks at the kids and is perplexed: what about my children?

old stump

A large branched tree grew in the forest. In spring it was covered with green leaves and white flowers. Bees and bumblebees flew to the flowers. Singing birds built their nest on the tree. Every year they returned in the spring from warm lands, found their tree and chirped cheerfully: “Good spring, tree, so we flew to you.” The tree lived happily, because he had many friends.

Many years later. The tree is old and dry. People came to the forest, cut down dry wood and took him somewhere.

Remained from the tree stump. From sadness and loneliness, the stump was covered with gray dust. It hurt him when he remembered how bees and bumblebees flew towards him, how songbirds made their nests ... Birds flew in in the spring, circled over the stump, chirped anxiously and flew away. Even the stump cried from longing. So he wanted someone's friendship.

Autumn has come. One day a hedgehog ran up to the stump. He dug a hole, wears fragrant dry leaves and moss, makes a winter bed. The old stump rejoiced, gently hugging the hedgehog. And the hedgehog with the stump became affectionate. They became friends, told each other about their lives. Even the stump rejuvenated, bloomed with green moss. Because now he has a friend.

Curious Poppy Seed

My grandmother was carrying ripe poppy heads from the garden.

Where are they taking us? - Curious Seed whispered in fright in one poppy head. It stuck its tiny head out the window to look around, and fell to the ground. It screamed:

Take me grandma...

But the grandmother was occupied with her thoughts and did not pay attention to the cry of the Curious Poppyseed.

A wonderful world opened up before him. Overhead, somewhere far away, under the clouds, the tops of huge plants rustle. And above them - the plants are even higher, and there, farther, they are so tall that it is not visible where they end.

Curious Poppyseed was scared. It seemed to him that it was the only one left in the world.

It cried. Then fell asleep. I saw amazing dreams: as if huge white blankets were falling from the sky to the ground ...

The Curious Poppy Seed woke up from the heat. It lay on a soft feather bed. All around sang. Curious Poppy Seed wanted to see: who sings it? It raised its head and noticed with surprise that instead of a head it had a green sprout. The sprout rose above the ground and split into leaves. There were more and more leaves. The Curious Poppy Seed became a tall, branching, slender plant. A large pink flower bloomed at the very top.

All this was amazing and joyful. But the Curious Poppy Seed experienced the greatest joy when he saw next to him another similar pink flower. And then I saw another and another flower. And behind them - a whole sea of ​​poppy flowers.

So I'm not the only one in the world!” exclaimed the Curious Poppy Seed and laughed. And all around laughed the sun, the blue sky, the green field, the blue forest. The whole world laughed.

How a spikelet grew from a grain

All day the collective farmers sowed wheat. The tractor driver was driving the tractor, and behind the tractor was a large seeder. Evening came. It's time to go home. The tractor driver brought the seeder onto the road. Got ready to go home. He sees a grain of wheat on the box of the seeder. The tractor driver took a grain, put it on a field, and covered it with a clod of damp earth. Grow, grain, grow a spikelet.

The root let the grain go down, and the sprout went up, a green leaf turned green. In winter, the stalk was warm under the snow. And in the spring, a strong stem grew from a green sprout, and on it a large ear. And in the spikelet - a hundred grains. The spikelet looks around him and sees a whole sea of ​​spikelets. He became happy, and he sang.

A tractor driver was walking through the field. He recognized his friend's spikelet and bowed low to him.

Poplars in the steppe

Three poplars grow in the steppe above the road. One tall, old and two young, flexible. My grandmother told me: once upon a time only one poplar grew here - this old, big one. It was sad for him to be alone on the road. One day a dear traveler was walking. Sat down under an old poplar. He asks a passer-by:

Kind person, cut off two thin branches from me, plant them near me. Let two poplars grow next to me, I will be happy.

The good man cut off two small twigs, planted them and watered them. Twigs turned green, turned into young poplars. They are watered by heavy rains, the wind is rocking. The old poplar became joyful with its sons.

Three poplars rustle quietly. They are talking about something. Probably about how bad it is to live alone and how joyful it is to live together.

Olya the sorceress

Autumn and spring flowers met in the school greenhouse. Here's how it happened.

We moved autumn flowers - chrysanthemums - to the greenhouse. They bloomed - white, purple, pink. And next to them, a lilac shoot was green. Approached New Year. It was snowing outside, the winter wind was noisy, and it was cozy and quiet in the greenhouse. One sunny winter morning the lilac blossomed. I opened a lilac flower, blue eyes, I saw White flower, chrysanthemum, and asks in surprise:

You are an autumn flower, chrysanthemum. Why are you blooming now?

Chrysanthemum says:

And you are spring Flower. Why are you blooming now, there is a bitter frost on the street?

I looked at a lilac flower - and it's true: it's winter outside.

This is all the little girl Olya, - says the chrysanthemum. - It was she who put us here. If it wasn't for her, we wouldn't have met.

Spring would not meet with autumn.

Christmas tree for sparrows

Three days later, the New Year, and Vitya is in bed. Mom put a Christmas tree in front of the bed, hung a lot of toys, sweets and apples on it. In the evening the Christmas tree lights were on.

The morning of the last day before the New Year has come. Vitya looked out the window. I saw three little sparrows. They jump from paw to paw, looking for food. Vitya felt sorry for the birds.

Mom, says Vitya, - let's arrange a Christmas tree for the sparrows.

How? - Mom was surprised.

See how, - answered Vitya.

He stuck a fir twig into a candy box, poured grains and crumbs.

Mom took out a small Christmas tree and put it in the yard.

Sparrows saw, flew to the grains, feast, chirp joyfully.

Here was a joyful New Year at Vitya!

Swallow with broken wing

After a hot summer heat, a thunderstorm rumbled. It started raining. Water flooded the Swallow's Nest, clinging to the wall of the old barn. The nest collapsed, the chicks fell out. They have already fledged, but did not yet know how to fly. The Swallow flies over the children, calling under the bush.

For several days the chicks lived under a bush. The swallow brought them food. They huddled together, waiting for her.

For now, four kids have learned to fly, flew apart, and one still does not fly. A swallow sits next to a chick that cannot fly. He has a broken wing. When he fell out of the nest, he was crippled.

Until autumn, a chick with a crippled wing lived under a bush. And when the time came for the swallows to fly away to a warm land, they gathered in a large flock, sat on a bush, and for a long time an alarming squeak was heard from there.

The birds have flown away to a warm land. There was a young swallow with a broken wing. I took it and brought it home. She leaned close to me trustingly. I put her on the window. The swallow looked up at the blue sky. I thought she had tears in her eyes.

Beautiful Song of the Lark

A man was walking through a wheat field. Suddenly a Lark sprang up from under his feet. He rose high above the head of the Man and began to sing his wonderful song. It seems to Man in this song a marvelous tale of silver strings stretched from the sun to the earth. About the golden sun, which in the evening goes to rest in a fabulous garden. About the rainbow - a golden bridge, along which giant blacksmiths descend to earth to take iron and coal ...

The Man listens to the marvelous song of the Lark and goes farther and farther - to where the Lark flies, and he flies to the forest. Finally, seeing that the Man was already at the edge of the forest, the Lark quickly flew into the wheat and hid in it.

There is his nest. He ran to the nest, and the larks are waiting for their mother. They are asking:

Mom, what did you sing about in your song?

About a human. I asked him: go, Man, away from my nest. Leave my chicks alone.

And did the Man like your song?

I liked it very much. He followed me to the edge of the forest.

Without nightingale

In one village, a kindergarten was located in a small peasant hut under a thatched roof. The rooms were equipped with new tables and beds very comfortable for children. There were many toys. The children especially liked the rider on the horse. This rider was called a Budenovite: a red star burned on his hat, and in his hand he raised his saber high.

The children in the garden liked one more thing very much: the nightingale. He lived in a cherry tree near the hut itself. In the morning, having come to the kindergarten, the children quietly stopped near the open window and listened to the nightingale singing. Those were the happiest moments.

And for the kindergarten, the collective farm built a large stone house. One day two cars drove up to the house. Tables, beds, bowls, spoons were placed on one, and children with toys sat on the other.

The new house was bright and spacious. But now, having come to the kindergarten in the morning, the kids opened the window to listen to the nightingale's song. There was no nightingale.

It became sad in the spacious, bright rooms.

There is nothing in the field

In late autumn there was nothing in the fields - no spikelets, no stubble, no straw. Everything is collected, everything is in the bins or in the yard. The winter turns green, the arable land turns black. The autumn wind sings in the bare trees. Gray clouds float low over the earth. From them he sows and sows drizzle on the ground. The sun is not visible. You will come to the field and you will not say what time it is now - day, morning or evening. The birds were silent.

Two people are walking across the field. One of them is in city clothes. This is a city visitor. He came to the village for a few days - to stay. He goes plowing, looks at an empty field and says:

How empty and unwelcoming the field is. Even sad. Another thing is when the ears of corn rustled here.

Next to the city guest is an agronomist. He has been working on the local collective farm for many years. He looks at the empty field, and in his eyes - joy. He says to his city visitor:

How beautiful the field is now. It's beautiful just because it's empty.

Blizzard

Our house is on the outskirts of the village. One winter morning, snow began to fall, then the wind blew. The field was covered in fog. It swirled like a white waterfall. No matter how much the eye sees, white waves are everywhere, fast and unstoppable.

I opened the door and looked out into the street. Suddenly I see: a small gray bird flew to a stack of straw, which stands not far in the field. As if she did not fly herself, but a white wave carried her. A bird fell next to a haystack. Oh, what to do? The snow will cover the bird, the frost will freeze.

I put on my sheepskin coat and went to the haystack. Found a bird. She was already covered in snow. I picked up a little bird, hid it under my shirt, and brought it home. He put it on the table, and she was barely breathing. Warmed up a bit, raised her head. I see - the bird has a wing in the blood. It was some kind of predator that hurt her.

A bird lived in our house for several weeks. The wing healed, I released it, and it flew. And in the evening she flew in, sat down on the open window and chirped. This is what she is probably saying:

I am grateful to you. I love you, but I'm better off outside.

How many flutes are here!

Twelve-year-old Nikolai was tending a cow. On a hot summer day, when everything around is trying to hide from the heat, Nikolai sat down under a willow. He saw an elder stick on the green grass.

“You can make a flute out of it,” thought the boy.

He straightened the ends of the stick, cleaned the core, dried it in the hot wind.

A soft melody sounded. It was a song about a sunny summer day, a blue sky, a song of a lark.

Nikolai looked around him, and it seemed to him that everything had become more beautiful: the willow that bent over the pond, and the green meadow, and the chamomile flower.

Evening was approaching. Nikolai drove the cow home. Above the pond, he saw a large elderberry bush. The bush was branched, thin, flexible branches trembling from the light evening wind.

"How many flutes are here!" thought Nikolai. He walked over to an elder bush, touched a smooth, flexible branch. It seemed to him that the branch sang, began to play.

The boy stood over the pond, listening to the magical music.

Piece of summer

The five-year-old girl Larisa got up early, at dawn, and went to the garden. Mom said that it was time to say goodbye to autumn: snow would soon fall to the ground, a blizzard would swirl. At night, Santa Claus will walk under the window, breathe icy cold, from which the windows will freeze.

The garden was empty and quiet. The leaves have long since fallen off the trees. The wind shook bare branches.

Dry leaves lay under the trees and rustled softly underfoot.

Suddenly, among the gray leaves, Larisa saw a large pink apple. It must have fallen recently, because it was whole and fresh.

The girl was delighted. She picked up the apple, looked around her and felt that the garden became lighter and more comfortable.

With an apple in her hands, Larisa went home. She put a pink apple on the table and said to her mother:

This is a slice of summer. Let it lie here until spring.

Mom smiled.

Since that day, the apple has been lying on the table. Big, pink, fresh, like fresh from the tree.

It's cold outside, a blizzard, and it lies on the table. Whoever enters the house, looks at the apple and smiles.

Oak on the road

From north to south, between two large cities, people began to build a road. People conceived to build a wide and even road, strong and beautiful.

The construction of the road has begun. The workers poured a high earth embankment, overlaid it with stones, poured asphalt over it. The road went through steppes and meadows, river banks.

One day the builders came to the field. There was a small bush here. The engineer showed where to lay the future road, and the workers hammered small pegs into the ground.

Suddenly the workers stopped and put pegs on the ground. Where the road should have been, stood a tall oak tree. Thick, strong, powerful - like a steppe sentry.

An engineer approached the workers. He didn't say a word to the workers.

The workers were also silent.

The engineer looked at the plan of the road for a long time, then turned his gaze to the oak tree and sighed.

The workers also took a deep breath.

The plan cannot be changed, said the engineer.

You can't cut the oak either, the workers said.

The engineer pulled out a peg, moved a hundred meters away from the oak and hammered it into the ground.

Now no one will judge us,” he said.

Several years have passed. A wide paved road ran from north to south. Smooth as an arrow. But in one place she bent a horseshoe. People traveling by bus smile happily, say:

The noble heart of those people who built this road.

Swallows say goodbye to their native land

For many years, swallows lived under the roof of the hut. In the spring, they flew in from a warm region, bred their chicks, and in the fall they flew to warm countries.

Father, mother and girl Alenka lived in the hut. She looked forward to that warm spring day when the swallows flew in. It was a real holiday for Alenka. In the summer, the girl loved to watch the swallows feed their chicks and go to bed.

And in the autumn, when the swallows flew away, Alenka felt sad. She seemed to be separated from dear friends.

A few days before they left, the swallows gathered in a small flock, sat on a telegraph wire near the yard and sat there for a long time. It seemed to Alyonka that the swallows were sad. She listened to their anxious chirping and thought: "Why are they sitting so long?"

Mom, why do swallows gather on a wire before flying away and chirp for a long, long time?

They say goodbye to their native land. After all, the road to warmer climes is long and dangerous.

Alenka went up to a flock of swallows that were sitting on a wire. She wanted the swallows to say goodbye to her too.

Evil Bear or good one?

It was during the Great Patriotic War. Twelve-year-old Pavlik was tending calves. Then all the children, even little boys and girls, worked in the field, because the fathers were at the front, and the mothers could not cope with the work themselves.

Pavlik had forty-five calves in his herd. All heifers and bulls were calm, affectionate. Only one bull - his name was Bear cub - was very angry and pugnacious. Often he, bowing his head, pushed Pavlik. The boy was afraid of the Bear cub.

On a quiet June day, the postman brought a funeral notice. Pavlik's father fell in battle. The mother wept, the little sister wept, and Pavlik also wept. Weeping, he drove the calves to the pasture.

Pavlik sat down under a birch, leaned over and wept. Suddenly he hears: someone affectionately touched his shoulder. "Who is it?" - Pavlik thought with surprise. “There is no one in the pasture.” He looked around and saw: a Bear cub was standing next to him. He tilted his head and rubbed against his shoulder.

Peacock stroked the bull. The little bear lay down beside him and laid his head on the boy's lap.

The larks have arrived

When the first larks appear in the spring sky, mothers bake little larks from wheat dough.

Mom baked a chick and Serezha. Seryozha planted a wheat bird on opened window. The spring sun shines brightly, the warm wind sings in the green willow. The lark sits, looks with a black eye at the sky. And it seems to Serezha: the bird moves its porches, is about to take off into the sky.

The night has come. Seryozha fell asleep. And the lark keeps looking and looking at the sky. Seryozha dreamed that the lark felt cold, and he took him to his bed to warm himself. Or maybe it really was.

In the morning, opening his eyes, Seryozha immediately looked at the windowsill. The window is open, but there is no lark. Seryozha ran to the window, looked into the blue morning sky and cried out:

Mom, our lark flew into the sky! Here he is singing.

Mom looked at Serezha and asked:

Did you take him to bed with you?

Took one minute in the middle of the night. He was cold. I warmed it...

So, it was he who flew away in the morning, ”my mother answered with a smile.

Boy and Lily-of-the-Valley Bell

Spring came. A green arrow appeared from the ground. She quickly grew, divided into two leaves. The leaves have gotten bigger. A small sprout appeared between them. He got up, leaned towards one leaf, and suddenly bloomed like a silvery bluebell early in the morning. It was the Lily of the Valley Bell.

Early in the morning, a little Boy saw the Lily-of-the-Valley Bell. He was struck by the beauty of the flower. He couldn't take his eyes off Lily of the Valley. He reached out his hand to pick a flower.

The flower whispers to the Boy:

Boy, why do you want to rip me off?

I really like you. You are very beautiful, - the Boy replies.

Good, - said the Lily-of-the-Valley Bell and sighed softly. - Pluck it, but just before you pick it, tell me how beautiful I am.

The boy looked at the Lily-of-the-Valley Bell. The flower was beautiful. It looked like the morning sky and the azure water of the pond, and something else amazingly beautiful. The boy felt it all, but he could not say.

He stood at the Lily-of-the-Valley Bell, enchanted by the beauty of the flower. He stood and was silent.

Grow up, Bellflower, the boy whispered softly.

Girl and Chamomile

On a clear sunny morning, the little Girl went out to play on the green lawn. Suddenly she heard: someone was crying... She listened and understood: the crying came from under the stone, which lies at the end of the lawn. The stone is small but very hard. The girl bent down to the stone and asked:

Who is crying under the stone?

It's me, Chamomile, - a quiet, weak voice was heard from under the stone. - Release me, Girl, the stone crushes me.

The Girl threw away the stone and saw a delicate stalk of Chamomile.

Thank you, Girl, - said Chamomile, sighing with all her chest. - You freed me from under the stone oppression.

How did you get here, under the stone?

I was deceived by stone oppression, - Chamomile said. - I was a small chamomile seed. In autumn, I was looking for a warm corner. Sheltered me stone oppression, promised to protect me from cold and heat. And when I wanted to see the sun, he almost crushed me. I want to be your girl.

Well, be mine, - the Girl agreed.

The girl and Chamomile became friends. Every morning the Girl came to Chamomile, and together they met the Sun.

How good it is for me to be yours, Girl, Chamomile often said.

What if you grew up in the woods or by the road? If you were a draw?

I would die of grief, - Chamomile said quietly. - But I know that there are no flowers. They are always somebody. Here is that Poppy Bell - he is friends with the Sun. But that little Forget-Me-Not flower is a friend of the Spring Wind. No, a flower could not live by anyone.

Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle

The Nightingale sang in the garden. His song was great. He knew that his song was loved, and therefore he looked with pride at the blooming garden, at the bright blue sky, at the little Girl who was sitting in the garden and listening to his song.

And next to the Nightingale flew a large horned Beetle. He flew and buzzed. The nightingale interrupted his song and said with annoyance to the Beetle:

Stop your buzzing. You don't let me sing. Nobody needs your buzzing, and in general it would be better if you, Beetle, were not there at all.

The beetle answered with dignity:

No, Nightingale, without me, Beetle, the world is also impossible, just as without you, Nightingale.

That's wisdom! - Nightingale laughed. - So people need you too? Let's ask the Girl, she will tell you who people need and who is not needed.

The Nightingale and the Beetle flew to the Girl, they ask:

Tell me, Girl, who should be left in the world - the Nightingale or the Beetle?

Let there be both the Nightingale and the Beetle, - the girl answered. And thinking, she added: - How is it possible without the Beetle?

Girl and Titmouse

The cold winter has come.

The little girl Natasha hung a feeder for Titmouse on the apple tree and every day brought fried hemp seeds. Titmouse was waiting for a girl. Natasha smiled happily, Titmouse sang a song to her and pecked at the seeds.

In the spring Titmouse said to the girl:

Now don't bring me food. I'll find my own food. Goodbye - until winter!

Goodbye, Blueberry.

Winter has come again. Everything was covered with snow. Titmouse flew to the feeder, and there was also snow in the feeder.

Titmouse became anxious. She asks the apple tree:

Yablonka, tell me why Natasha is not here? Has she forgotten about me?

No, she didn't forget. She is ill.

It became hard on Titmouse's soul. She sat on a branch and thought: “I will fly to the girl. You have to do something to make her happy. Bring her a present. But where can I get a gift? Snow, snow, snow all around.

And then Titmouse decided to bring Natasha a song. She flew to her house, flew into the window, sat down at the bedside of the sick Natasha and sang.

Natasha felt better.

purple flower

A rosebud opened in the middle of the night. Delicate purple petals unfurled. A new flower is born. He was still not very beautiful, the petals were not yet completely straightened, and one remained a little crumpled.

The flower looked at the stars twinkling in the sky, shuddered softly and whispered:

It's already dawning. It is necessary to appear before the sun in all its beauty. The whole world will look at us, at our purple petals.

The petals fluttered. The crumpled petal straightened. A drop of dew fell on the purple cloth, trembled, and turned purple too.

The flower straightened up, the petals fluttered, the drop shuddered and played with tints of purple.

Look, said the Flower to the petals, even the sky in the east is turning purple. This is from our beauty. The whole world will be purple.

Having said this, the Flower froze in anticipation.

But the purple sky faded, turned scarlet, then rose-blue.

The rose flower looked around in surprise. Suddenly I saw a green tree and on it - a white candle.

Who are you? - asked the Flower.

I am chestnut. chestnut flower.

But why aren't you purple? Why are you white, the sky is blue, and the tree is green?

If everything in the world were the same, there would be no beauty, said Chestnut Flower.

horse and rider

The Sculptor lived in a small house. He knew how to carve people and animals, fabulous birds and even flowers with thin transparent petals from wood.

Next to the Sculptor lived a Boy with his mother. His mother was a coal miner. She burned charcoal out of wood, sold it in the market, and lived by it.

The boy came to the Sculptor's workshop, sat on a bench and watched how life and beauty were born from wood.

One day a large log was brought to the Sculptor from the forest. Sliced ​​into two pieces. One part was brought to the workshop, and the other was thrown into a dump in the yard, near the coal miner's house.

The Sculptor worked for many days. The boy saw how a horse was born from a tree. He was like alive. He rushed forward, but the invisible horseman held him back.

And where is the rider? - asked the Boy.

The rider remained in the second half of the tree, - answered the Sculptor, and his hands trembled. The sculptor was old and weak in body, many days of work exhausted him.

The boy ran to his mother. He wanted to tell her: "Mom, take the other half of the log to the Sculptor's workshop, there is a rider in it."

But the second half of the log was long gone. Mom cut down the tree and burned it to charcoal.

Why did you, mother, burn the horseman? - asked the dejected Boy.

The mother looked at her son in bewilderment.

Ox and Titmouse

At night, the pond was covered with thin, fragile ice - just like it is now. At dawn, the ice sparkled with iridescent brilliance: do you see, children, how the colors of dawn shimmer? The ice became either scarlet, then pink, then red, then purple. Here he caught fire, like a fiery sea. The sun appeared from behind the horizon, and the ice turned crimson.

Titmouse was sitting on a willow. She admired the play of the morning dawn on the ice. Titmouse sang her simple song about fragile, delicate, subtle beauty. Her song was joyful and a little sad: the sun will rise, the ice will melt, all charm will disappear.

I'm small, my claws are soft as fluff, but I can't sit on this magic mirror, - Titmouse told the world. - Yes, this is a mirror in which the whole world is reflected. Look at this beauty! Is it possible to sleep at this time?

And on the shore at that time stood Ox. He heard Titmouse's song and was touched. If he were not Vol, tears of tenderness would drip from him. But he was Vol. He wanted to take a closer look at the beauty that Titmouse sang about. He approached the very edge of the ice, the ice crackled, the magic mirror crumbled, and turbidity rose from the bottom.

Where is this beauty? - Ox mumbled and, having drunk water, wandered to the opposite bank.

apple tree and fence

A man planted an apple tree in the yard. The apple tree grows for a year or two. The first flowers appeared on the Apple tree, the first fruits began to set. And the Man - the owner of the Apple Tree - was evil, greedy. He was afraid that one of the people walking along the road would pick an apple. He put up a fence. Fenced off the Apple tree from the road.

Two more years have passed. The Apple Tree became even higher, stretched its branches higher than the fence, leaned over the road.

The evil Man began to build a fence higher. apple tree asks:

Why are you shielding me? After all, people go along the road and rejoice: what a beautiful apple tree.

The man replied:

But you are my apple tree.

The apple tree cannot understand. She looks at the blue sky, at the bright sun and asks:

Whose sun? Whose sky?

The man could not answer.

Pile of garbage

At the end of the school yard, there was a pile of rubbish by the fence. At first it was a small trash can, then it became a real trash can and finally turned into a big pile of garbage.

The big pile didn't grow anymore, but it was already big. Papers were thrown here, dry leaves were raked.

Everyone saw a pile of garbage, but no one paid attention to it. Everyone thought: somewhere the garbage should be thrown away; probably, a heap is needed, because there is garbage.

But then one spring, talkative children ran out of the classroom into the schoolyard. They dug a hole, planted a rose bush, watered it. Every day they came to their bush, watered and rejoiced: buds opened on the bush, leaves appeared. And then a warm spring day came, when a large red flower opened on a bush. He was so beautiful that all the students and teachers came to the rose bush. Admiring the beauty of the flower, everyone suddenly noticed a pile of garbage. Everyone felt ashamed: how could there be a trash can here?

Everyone thought it was my fault. If I had paid attention to the pile of rubbish earlier, it would have been long gone.

A cart drove up to a pile of garbage. Pupils and teachers took shovels, threw garbage on the cart and took it far, far into the ravine.

The most beautiful and the ugliest

The boy was asked at school to write an essay "What do you know about the most beautiful and the ugliest." The Boy thought for a long time and could not figure out what was the most beautiful in the world and what was the ugliest. It seemed to him that the most beautiful was the lilac flower. And the frog seemed the ugliest. He approached Grandfather and asked: is it so? Grandpa replied: no, not like that.

The most beautiful, - said Grandfather, - is human labor. And what is ugly is that which lets human labor go to the wind. Go, walk the earth for a few days, and you will see both.

The boy has gone. Goes in the field. He sees that the wheat field is turning yellow, the cornfield is spikelet to spikelet.

This is the most beautiful thing, - the Boy thinks. - After all, this is human labor.

This is the ugliest thing, - the Boy decided. - After all, she lets human labor go to the wind.

Oak and Rakita

Growing near Oak and Rakita. Oak every year stretches higher and higher towards the sun. And Rakita does not seem to be growing, it is bushing. Here Dub asks:

Rakita, why are you so small? Why do you have thin twigs instead of a trunk?

Rakita was silent for a while, then answers:

Here the Storm-Hurricane will fly in, then you will also want to become thin. I will bend down to the ground, close my eyes, and the Hurricane will spare me. And your hands-branches will break off.

Because of the high mountains, because of the distant seas, a Hurricane has come and flown. Thundering, howling, groaning, laughing. Rakita bent down to the ground, spread her braids over the grass, closed her ears and eyes, trembling with fear. And the Oak straightened his chest towards the Hurricane, straightened his mighty shoulders. Howled, roared, groaned Hurricane, wanted to break Oak's hands, but survived mighty oak. Only one branch broke off and fell on Rakita. And Hurricane, exhausted, lay down in the valley and lies, barely breathing.

Rakita almost died of fear. Thought the whole Oak was broken.

Well, how, Oak, are you alive?

And what? - replies Oak. - It is better to meet the Hurricane while standing and fight it, but grow tall, tall, than bend to the ground and grow like a small vine.

I saw you again, Sunbeam!

The fireball of the sun touched the horizon. Little Serezha looked at the setting sun. He did not want to part with him.

Already half of the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, now only a narrow fiery strip remained of it, now the last spark of solar fire flared up and went out.

Serezha raised his head and looked at the tall poplar. Its top was lit up with purple light.

You can still see the sun from there, - Serezha thought. - You left me, Sunbeam, but I will see you again.

The boy quickly climbed the poplar trunk, reached the top, and joy lit up in his eyes. He again saw a narrow strip of the solar disk above the horizon. The strip fell lower and lower, melted, and then the last spark of solar fire flared up and went out.

And yet I saw you again, Sunbeam! - exclaimed the boy.

Sergeykin flower

Today is the penultimate day of classes. Four third grade boys came to school early in the morning. They sat down under a tall oak and began to show off their parents' gifts.

Petro showed the boys a knife. It was a wonderful knife with a copper block: a horse is drawn on the block, and a rider is on it.

Nice knife, the guys said.

This is my knife, - Petro boasted again.

Maxim showed the boys a flashlight. The guys have never seen such a flashlight. An amazing bird was carved on the white handle.

Good flashlight, the boys said.

This is my flashlight, - boasted Maxim.

Grisha showed a metal nightingale. He touched him with his lips, and sang like a nightingale.

A good nightingale, - the guys said.

This is my nightingale,” Grisha boasted.

The boys were waiting: what is in Sergeyka's pocket?

Sergeika invited them:

Come with me.

He led the children into a thicket of bushes and showed them a flower under an acacia bush. It was a beautiful flower. Dew drops trembled on its blue petals, and in each drop a small sun burned.

What a miracle! - said the boys.

But this is not your flower, - said Petro. - You can’t take it with you ...

And why should I take a flower with me? - Sergey was surprised.

You can't change a flower for something else, - Maxim added.

And why should I change the flower for something else? Sergey didn't understand.

And I can say: this is my flower, - put in Grisha.

But will it make him worse? - Seryozha asked.

Chrysanthemum and Bulb

Chrysanthemum grew not far from the hut. By the end of summer, it bloomed with a delicate pink color. Chrysanthemum admired her own beauty. Her flowers whispered: how beautiful we are ...

And next to the Chrysanthemum, the Bulb grew. Common Onion. By the end of summer, the Bulb was ripe, the green stalk had withered, and the pungent smell of onions came from the Bulb. Chrysanthemum wrinkled her nose and said to Bulb:

How bad you smell! I wonder why people plant such a plant. Probably to keep fleas away.

The bulb was silent. Compared to Chrysanthemum, she felt like a simpleton.

But a Woman came out of the hut and went to Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum held her breath. Of course, the Woman will now say: "What beautiful Chrysanthemum flowers."

The woman approached Chrysanthemum and said:

What beautiful Chrysanthemum flowers!

Chrysanthemum melted with pleasure.

The woman bent down, pulled out the Onion, and, looking at it, exclaimed:

What a beautiful bulb!

Chrysanthemum was perplexed. She thought:

“Can the Bulb be beautiful, too?”

Bonfire in the field

Quiet autumn day. The sun is shining, but no longer warm. Silver webs fly in the air. Near the pond, in the meadow, cows graze.

Mom and I are on the field. Mom works, and I'm next to her. In the evening we sit near a large pile of potatoes. A small fire is burning. Potatoes are baking. How nice to sit by the fire, wiggle the heat with a stick, and wait for a baked potato.

Here are the baked potatoes. We enjoy delicious potatoes, and a crane wedge can be seen in the blue sky. The sun is setting behind the forest, the field is darkening, coolness is coming from the valley.

When I remember this day, my soul becomes so easy ...

Red-breasted bullfinches

Where does Fatherland begin for me? From the fact that most of all crashed into the memory from the days of childhood.

For some reason, among the many memories, the most vivid is about red-breasted bullfinches. Clear winter morning. The sun's rays play in the snowflakes. I look out the window. There are red bullfinches in the yard. They are looking for something in the snow, or maybe they are playing. With amazement, I look at unseen birds. Why do they have red breasts? Where did they come from, these beautiful birds?

Mom says: “They flew in because of the sun.”

The bullfinches flew away, I remembered them for a long time, and at night I even dreamed about them.

Every time I see a red-breasted bullfinch, I remember my childhood. I remember a fairy tale about a bird that flew in from behind the sun.

Everything that we remember from the distant days of childhood is dear and close to us. After all, this is our first impression of our native land.

Willow over the pond

On a clear day of "Indian summer" a willow, old and hollow, bent over the pond. Perhaps at that moment she is thinking: “Autumn will come, after autumn - winter, after winter spring will come, everything around will bloom, and I will never turn green, because I am old.”

I felt very sorry for that willow. In the spring I went to see if it had turned green? The willow did not turn green. It was dry. And next to it, two tender sprouts were green. Every day they became stronger and stronger. These were two young willows. They grew from the root of the old one. And it seemed to me that the old, dry willow rejoiced: “I have not died, I will live forever!”

When I hear the word "Fatherland", I remember the old willow and young sprouts. Life is endless, as is the Fatherland.

Winter twilight

Quiet winter evening. The sky was covered with clouds. Snowflakes are falling. Early dusk. Mom and I sit near the window and look into the field. Before us is an endless white carpet. On it, somewhere in the distance, a black dot. She is moving.

What is it? - I ask my mother.

Maybe a dog, and maybe a cunning fox. Or maybe a gray wolf, ”Mom answers quietly.

A gray wolf? - I repeat with surprise. - Where could he come from here, a gray wolf?

From a fairy tale, - says my mother. - This is not just a white field in front of us, but a fairy-tale field.

And the forest? - I ask. - Over there, on the horizon, is this a real forest?

And the forest is also fabulous, - mother whispers. - A dark magical forest ...

I will remember those winter twilights for the rest of my life. How dear to me! After all, this is a particle of my destiny and my native Fatherland.

Swallow over the window

I am lying near the window. The glass is covered with bizarre patterns. This frost painted amazing animals, flowers, blue mountains and a tall poplar. I remember this poplar: it stands, proud and slender, the wind bends it, but it does not bend ...

Then the sun warmed up, the patterns blurred, the sky turned blue. Swallows chirped under the window. They sat on the windowsill and peered into the room. They flew somewhere quickly, quickly, brought earth in their beaks and sculpted a nest.

I sat near the window and watched the swallows fussing near the nest. The sun got hotter every day. The leaves on the apple trees rustled, and the swallows became calm and affectionate. After all, they had testicles in the nest.

And then the swallows became sensitive and cautious. One day a chick looked out of the nest.

Here is the swallow's nest and now we have it above the window. It's like a song from a distant childhood. When I hear the word "Fatherland", I remember the patterns on the glass, and the first lump of earth in the swallow's beak.

Crane wedge in the sky

I remember this from the time when my grandmother was still alive.

I remember, before sunset, we sat near the window. I looked at the blue of the sky and in the square of glass I saw a crane wedge. Grandma said:

Spring came. The cranes flew to their native land.

My grandmother told me a story about a crane with a broken wing. As in autumn, he could not fly with his comrades to warmer climes. As I asked you not to forget about him. How the little boy saved him.

I listened to a fairy tale and looked at the crane wedge. These evening hours will stay in my memory for the rest of my life. I remember everything: how my grandmother and I were sitting, and that there was a willow branch on the window ... And a crane wedge in the blue sky, as if drawn on a canvas.

When I hear the word "Fatherland", I remember that crane wedge. A song is heard about a wide field and a blue sky.

How dear you are to me, crane wedge ...

old cherry

Cherry trees grew not far from our hut. Old, old, already half of the branches have completely dried up, and on half delicious berries have still been born. One spring, only one branch bloomed. Father wanted to cut down the cherry, because she was dying ... But the mother said:

No need to cut. This cherry was planted by your grandfather. Let the berries grow on this branch...

The last time cherries were born. Mom collected the bones and planted them in the ground. Young cherries grew from those seeds. The old cherry has dried up, and the young ones are already blooming and bearing fruit.

That's how that cherry did not die, but extended its kind, so the people never die. As long as the people live, the Fatherland also lives.

Let's take care of the old and ancient. Let's take care of what our grandfathers and great-grandfathers cherished. This is the memory of the people. After all, if the people lose their memory, they will also lose their love for their native Fatherland.

green meadow

When I hear the word “Motherland”, I remember a green meadow ... It seemed to me then so big, boundless, as if the whole world was a meadow. The sun shone in the blue sky. On the green carpet - yellow, blue, pink flowers. The bees buzzed. Butterflies flew - large, bright. I am standing on the shore of this big green ocean, I want to embrace with my eyes all the beauty that excites me.

A day in childhood seems endless, a meadow - boundless, a field - boundless.

Recently I went to the meadow in the spring. The same green grass, the same flowers, the same butterflies. And the sun shines in the blue, and the bees buzz. But for some reason it all seems small, like a toy.

Why is it so? Probably because childhood is the most tender sprouts of a tree whose name is Fatherland. In childhood, the most subtle, most tender colors of our native land open up before us. Remember your childhood, and you will come to the boundless ocean of your native land.

Old and New Year

On New Year's Eve, two years met - the Old Year, a gray-haired old man, and the New Year, a young boy. Gives the Old Year the keys to the New Year and says:

This is a big key - from earthly riches. Pass it on to people right away. Let them mine more coal, ore, oil. Let them make more cars.

This is the middle key - from the grain fields. Pass it on to people as well. Let them grow more wheat, rice, sugar beets. Let people have more milk, meat, butter.

And this is the smallest key. It's from the gun store. Take care of this key more than your eyes. As soon as you notice that the enemy is about to attack our country, immediately give this key to the people and tell them to quickly take up arms. Sleep neither day nor night.

Such orders were given by the Old Year to the New.

soldier's spoon

This spoon is in our closet. She became our family shrine.

Mom says:

I was still small when the Nazis attacked our land. It was hard to live under the rule of the occupiers, there was nothing to eat, schools were closed.

The happy day of the liberation of our native land from the conquerors has come. There was a heated battle for our village. In this battle, not far from our hut, a young soldier was seriously wounded. He lived for several hours, I looked after him. The soldier gave me his spoon and said: “I have nothing else to keep as a keepsake. Take this spoon - it went through the whole war with me.

This spoon lies - an expensive relic. It reminds us of the exploits of heroes. This is a small part of our Motherland.

After ten years

It was in Last year Great Patriotic War. Stepanka's father died at the front. Fighting friends wrote to my mother: "We keep your husband's rifle."

Stepanko says to mom: “Ask your fighting friends, let them send dad's rifle! I will learn how to shoot, and when I grow up, I will go with her to the army.”

Mom wrote, and fighting friends answered: "Grow up, son, your father's rifle will be waiting for you."

Years passed, Stepanko grew up, joined the army. They gave him his father's rifle. Stepanko guards the Soviet border.

At night, Stepanko stands on patrol and seems to hear his father's voice:

Vigilantly guard the Fatherland, son!

My field son

The school year is over, and Petya's dad said:

And now, son, let's go to my field.

On yours?” Petya asked in surprise.

We drove for a long time. First by suburban train, then by bus. And they walked from the bus stop. To the forest. In front of the forest is a wide, flat field, wheat is ripening on it.

Above the field is a high blue sky, and in the sky a lark sings.

This is my field, son. Here I fought with the Nazis. Here I defeated them.

Pride flared up in Petya's soul. And he said softly:

And your lark...

Corncrake and Mole

From a distant warm land, a small Corncrake returned to the north, to our land. This is a gray bird. In summer, Crake breeds chicks with us, and flies to Africa for the winter.

It is difficult for a corncrake to fly, its wings are small. Therefore, where he flies, and where he walks. And now, having sank to the ground, he walked and walked to the north. He goes to himself and quietly sings a song about the distant northern region, about a nest under a willow bush in a green meadow - there is his dear homeland.

He goes to himself, goes and suddenly meets the Mole. Mole sits in a hole, sticks out his muzzle and asks Corncrake:

Who are you and where are you going?

I am a bird Corncrake, returning to my homeland from a warm land.

Crake told the Mole about his distant northern homeland and about the warm African land.

But why don't you settle on this warm land forever? - asks the astonished Mole. - Why do you travel thousands of kilometers every year? After all, you hurt your legs to the blood. The kite is waiting for you everywhere. What makes you endure these hardships? What calls you to the cold north?

Homeland, - answered Corncrake.

father's pencil

It was during the Great Patriotic War. Little Andreika's father fought at the front, and his mother worked in a factory.

One day the postman brought a letter to my mother. Mom opened the envelope, burst into tears, hugged Andreika and said:

Our dad is not...

A few days later a small package arrived from my father's comrades. In that parcel were dad's things: a spoon, a notebook and a pencil with which he wrote letters home.

Many years later. Andreika became a slender, handsome young man. His mother escorted him to serve in the Soviet Army and, collecting, gave his father's pencil.

As a priceless shrine, Andrei put a pencil in his pocket near his heart.

From the army, he wrote a letter to his mother. The first words in it were: “I swear, mommy, that I will be the same faithful son of the Fatherland as my father.”

This letter was written with my father's pencil.

Mom rejoiced and cried over her son's letter.

The most expensive

The mother has one son. He serves in the Soviet Army. Far, far away is his service - on the shores of the cold sea. Everything there is cold: the sky, and low clouds, and sea waves. The coast is rocky - also cold. There is no grain of sand, no stalk, no blade of grass, no tree.

The young soldier became sad and wrote to his mother: “Mom, send me something good from home. Something dearest to me."

Mother sent her son a pinch of native land.

The son put the earth to his heart, and immediately a warm sun, a warm river, warm wheaten waves played before his eyes. He looked at the sea and the shore. And it became warmer and dearer. He understood that here, in the far North, he guards the most precious thing. And this is the most precious thing - native land.

Crane and Parrot

The Crane lived on the shore of our lake. Winter was coming. He stuck to a flock of other cranes and flew far south. There is eternal summer warm waters, emerald shores, azure sky. There are many amazing birds in the forests, green, blue, blue parrots. They all sing and shout joyfully.

Our crane is bored. The green Parrot asks the Crane:

Why are you bored? Why don't you build nests, why don't you hatch the cranes?

Silent Crane. Looking north. Suddenly he started, listening to something. Somewhere there was a crane cry. Joyful, anxious.

The Crane took off to catch up with the other cranes.

Where are you flying to? - the Parrot was surprised, - because it's cold there. You'll live five months and you'll fly here again. What's good in your cold north?

The good news is that I was born there. There is my homeland.

Serezha is waiting for a letter

Serezha, a second-grader, has an older brother, Nikolay. He recently left to serve in the Soviet Army.

Brother sent a letter home. He writes that he serves far in the North, near the Arctic Ocean. Guards the border Soviet Union. In the North, everything is not the same as at home. Around the stones. Only occasionally flashes a low bush. And the ocean is cold and harsh. Always foaming, worried.

A separate letter in an envelope is addressed to Seryozha. “Seryozha,” writes Nikolai, “now we have spring, summer will come soon. Go, Seryozha, to the field, pick a spike of wheat, put it in an envelope and send it to me.

Seryozha was surprised by his brother's request. He stood at the edge of the wheat field for a long time. Then he picked up a spikelet, thought: why did Nikola ask to send it?

Seryozha plucked a spikelet, put it in an envelope, and wrote to his brother: “I picked this spikelet in the field, right behind our hut. Write to me, brother, what is in it, this spikelet? Why did you ask to send it?"

Serezha is now waiting for a letter from his brother.

What a beautiful Belarus!

Belarusian friends came to visit Ukrainian schoolchildren. Little Oksana made friends with a Belarusian girl Marysya. Oksana took Marysya into the field. A field of wheat stretched to the horizon. Yellow field like gold. And above it is a blue sky.

Marysia stood in front of an endless wheat field, admiring its beauty.

What a beautiful Ukraine, she said quietly to Oksana.

Marysia told Oksana a lot about Belarus: in front of the windows of her house there is the same huge field, flax grows there, and it is blue as the sky.

Oksana listened to Marysya, but could not imagine: how is it so - the field is blue, like the sky, and above the field - the sky is also blue? So is all of Belarus blue?

The next spring, Oksana came to visit Marysa.

Early in the morning the girls left Mary's house. A blue field of blossoming flax stretched to the very horizon. Blue field like the sky. And above it is a blue sky.

Now I know how beautiful Belarus is,” Oksana said admiringly.

Stalk from native land

The mother of her son accompanied her to serve in the Soviet Army. Ordered:

Serve faithfully, be a brave and honest warrior. Here is a magic stalk from your native land. I plucked this stem from your grandfather's grave. He fought for Soviet power, shed his blood in the struggle for the Fatherland. When it is difficult for you, put this stalk to your chest.

Serves as a young soldier on the border. A stalk from his native land - in his pocket, near the heart.

One dark night, a young soldier stood at his post. Suddenly he noticed: someone is approaching the border. The soldier lay down behind the hillock, waited for the intruder to come up, and detained him. He tied the offender's hands and sent him under escort to the outpost.

Suddenly, from the side of a foreign state, a whole detachment of armed people approached. They opened fire and wounded the young soldier in the leg.

The wounded border guard lay down on the ground, clutched a machine gun in his hands and opened fire on the enemy. Border violators lay down and continued to shoot.

Another bullet wounded the Soviet border guard - in the shoulder. The soldier feels that his strength is leaving him, and he squeezes the machine gun even more tightly, shoots even more accurately at the enemy.

The third bullet wounded the Soviet border guard in the chest. He remembered the stalk from his native land and his mother's mandate. He pulled out a stalk from his pocket, and at that very moment his native village appeared before him. He saw his mother's eyes, heard the smells of native herbs. The body of the Soviet soldier was filled with strength, his hands became even stronger, his eyes became even sharper, his hatred for the enemy became even hotter.

Again the Soviet soldier opened fire on the enemy. In the meantime, friends came to the rescue - border guards.

After all, beyond the sea is a foreign land

The Owner - the Farmer - has a large fertile field. Every year he sowed wheat on it. The wheat will ripen, the Farmer will mow it, and the Crane will fly to the stubble and collect the spikelets. Says "thank you" Crane Farmer for delicious wheat spikelets.

But a difficult year has come. It didn't rain all summer. As soon as the ear was thrown out, the wheat withered.

The Crane flies to the field, and the Farmer sits over the withered stems.

What are you going to do now, the farmer? - asks the Crane.

I will plow the cornfield and sow wheat, - answered the farmer.

The crane does not believe. And a man really plows a field, sows wheat.

Winter has passed, spring has come. The field is green. And again a great grief happened to the Farmer. Again, not a single drop of rain fell to the ground all summer long. As soon as the ear was thrown out, the wheat withered.

The Crane flies to the field, and the Farmer sits over the dry stems.

What are you going to do now, bread grower? - asks the Crane, just like last year.

I will plow the cornfield and sow wheat, - answered the farmer.

Why are you wasting your strength and ruining the grain? - says the Crane. - Bake bread from wheat and eat, otherwise you will die of hunger. And go with me beyond the sea, where the land is fertile and there is no drought.

We're not going anywhere," said the farmer.

We're not going anywhere," the children said.

We're not going anywhere," said the mother.

Why don't you go? After all, you've had a drought for two years now.

After all, beyond the sea is a foreign land, - said the Farmer.

A foreign land beyond the sea, - said the mother.

We don’t want to go to a foreign land! - the children said crying.

rose flower

Three young pioneers walked through the field, where many years ago there was a battle with the Nazis.

The pioneers looked at every mound, peered into every ravine. They wanted to learn something new about the great battle for their native land.

In the valley, the young rangers came across thickets of bushes. Among the bushes, they saw a flower red as purple, came closer and stopped in amazement. It was a rose flower, and it grew from an old, rusty soldier's helmet. The pioneers took a closer look - and this is the helmet of a Soviet soldier, pierced by a bullet.

With their heads bowed, the pioneers stood for a long time. The flower flaunted under the rays of the spring sun. If he could speak, he would say:

There was a hot fight here many years ago. A young Soviet soldier, Komsomol member Ivan Petrenko fired a machine gun at the Nazis. The Nazis surrounded him and wanted to take him alive. He let the enemies close to him and destroyed them. And when one cartridge remained in the tape, he turned the muzzle of the machine gun into his chest and shot into the heart. In order not to be captured, not to recognize the shame of the prisoner.

This is what a rose would say if it could speak. But even without a story, the young pathfinders understood that the blood of a hero had been shed here.

nightingale nest

Our soldiers drove the Nazis from their native land. The enemy fiercely resisted. We advanced through the forest. Fascist mines and shells exploded on our way.

Under a curly birch stood a young Soviet soldier, a youth of about eighteen, Nikolai Polivanov from Siberia. He put a light machine gun to a birch and fired at the enemy. A small bird lived on a birch, next to the machine gun its nest trembled, it hid next to the nest, looked with its beady eyes first at the soldier, then at the chicks peeping out of the nest.

A mine exploded somewhere nearby. A splinter beat off a branch with a nest. A branch fell, and the nest fell on the soft last year's foliage. A bird took off, squeaked anxiously, circled over the chicks, and they, small ones, opened their beaks and squeaked plaintively and plaintively.

The enemy was retreating, but the battle was nearby, behind the mound. Nikolai Polivanov removed a light machine gun from a tree and placed it against a birch trunk. He approached the chicks and carefully lifted the branch. Having separated the nest from the branch, he attached it to another branch on the birch. He took out a thin rope from the duffel bag, tied the nest so that it would not fall off, and even disguised it so that the bird would not notice the rope.

I know this bird ... He will notice that a person has been the boss in the nest, maybe he can refuse the chicks, - said Nikolai, smiling.

When a soldier with a machine gun went to where the battle was thundering, the bird, sitting by the nest, jumped into it. “I didn’t refuse…” the young man said, looking back for a moment.

And in the evening, when the hour of calm fell, the soldier talked about the birds of his native Siberia, and tenderness shone in his eyes.

He will be back

Vasilko was three years old when the Nazis attacked our land. They robbed collective farmers, sent boys and girls to hard labor in Germany.

Vasilko's father fought at the front, the little boy lived with his mother.

Two years passed, and now the rumble of cannons was heard from behind the Dnieper. It was our Soviet troops advancing. The Germans began to retreat. Shells were exploding in the village.

Mom and Vasilko hid in the cellar. Above the cellar is a small shed. The shell set fire to the shed. Vasilek cried.

Suddenly a boy sees: a soldier with a red star on his buttonhole is climbing into the cellar. He was delighted: this is our soldier.

The soldier saved Vasilko and his mother.

The battle moved away, the Soviet Army drove the Nazis further west.

The soldier-savior said to Vasilko:

Farewell boy. If I'm alive, we'll meet again. I will return through your village.

Victory Day has come. The soldiers returned home.

Vasilek waited a long time for his savior. But he wasn't.

Many years later. Vasilek became an adult. Already served in the army, and returned home. And he has two sons. In the summer, Vasil takes both sons by the hand and walks with them to the main road.

A father sits under a poplar tree for a long time with his sons. The father of the people looks, they go and go along the road.

Dad, who are we waiting for? - the sons ask. The father spoke about his savior.

Maybe he will come back, - believes the father.