How spring decided to decorate the forest. Reading the story “Spring in the Forest” by Mr. Skrebitsky. What does hung up mean?

Teach children to compose a retelling of the text based on drawings;

To develop children's voluntary attention and logical thinking.

Equipment: text of the story “Spring”, supporting drawings (illustrations 77-81), ball, magnetic marker board.

Progress of the lesson

I. Speech warm-up

"Call me kindly"

Teach children to compose narrative stories based on ideas (from personal experience) based on a drawing plan;

Equipment: subject pictures with images of signs of spring, a drawing plan (the speech therapist sketches it schematically on the board), a ball, a magnetic marker board.

Progress of the lesson

I.Speech warm-up

Physical education minute. At the discretion of the speech therapist.

II. Main part of the lesson

1. Explanation of the meanings of proverbs.

The speech therapist explains to children the meaning of proverbs: “Spring is red and hungry”; “If there were a forest, the nightingales would fly.”

2. Compiling narrative stories from children’s personal experiences based on a drawing plan. Speech therapist. Today in class we will write a story about the work that is carried out in the garden in the spring.

Look at the plot pictures with images of the signs of spring and the work carried out in the spring garden.

Let's make a story about spring work in the garden. You already know that any story must have order. Therefore, first we will discuss the outline of our story.

The speech therapist names the points of the support plan and shows the sequence of their location.

Speech therapist. Let me remind you that for every sentence you make, you will definitely receive a special yellow chip. And if you can compose a complete “beautiful” sentence, use a comparison, saying or proverb in your speech, you will also receive a red prize chip.

Using the points of the support plan, children take turns composing sentences and combining them into a story. The speech therapist makes sure that the story is not interrupted and helps children in case of difficulty.

Basic drawing plan

The speech therapist thanks the children for their efforts and the story they compiled.

III. Summing up the lesson

The speech therapist sums up the lesson. Counts the children's chips and determines the most eloquent storytellers.

The speech therapist and children applaud them.

Lesson 59. “Such a terrible war”

Target: Compilation and distribution of proposals for subject paintings and photographs of the war years.

Tasks:

Activate the dictionary on the topic “Victory Day”; synonym dictionary;

Teach children to understand the meanings of polysemantic words, figurative expressions and sayings;

Teach children to form complex words (adjectives);

Teach children to compose and... distribute proposals for subject paintings and photographs;

To develop in children a sense of compassion for other people and patriotism;

Develop voluntary attention and logical thinking in children.

Equipment: photographs of the war years, modern photographs with images of veterans, the Victory Parade in Moscow, the subject painting “Victory Day” (illustration 29), special and prize chips (about 30 pieces each), a ball, a magnetic marker board.

Preliminary work: On the instructions of the speech therapist at home, parents and their children select photographs from family archives and ask loved ones about relatives who fought or worked behind enemy lines.

Progress of the lesson

I.Speech warm-up

Physical education minute. At the discretion of the speech therapist.

I. Main part of the lesson

1. Explanation of the meanings of polysemantic words, figurative expressions and sayings.

A speech therapist explains to children the meanings of polysemantic words automatic, glory, figurative expressions: “minute of silence”, “Motherland” and the saying: "There is safety in numbers"; “A machine gun and a shovel are the soldier’s friends.”

2.Introduction to the topic of the lesson.

Together with the children, the speech therapist attaches to the board photographs of the war years from the children’s family archives, modern photographs with images of veterans and the Victory Parade in Moscow, and the subject painting “Victory Day.”

Speech therapist. The Second World War is one of the most terrible events not only of the 20th century, but of all history as a whole.

Victory Day, which we celebrate every year on May 9, is a holiday, but a holiday “with tears in our eyes.” This is, first of all, a day of mourning, a day of remembrance for the millions of people who died. These people gave everything for the great Victory. Thanks to the brave and courageous soldiers, we and our loved ones are now alive.

Teach children the correct formation of verbs with various verb prefixes pour;

Teach children to understand the meanings of polysemantic words and proverbs;

Teach children to compose a retelling of the text based on the pictures of the series;

To develop children's voluntary attention, visual and verbal memory, and logical thinking.

Equipment: pictures with images of different colors; a jug of water, a glass, a small watering can and an indoor flower; 1 albums (according to the number of children), ball, magnetic marker board.

Progress of the lesson

I.Speech warm-up

Names of speech games and exercises
"Remember and name"	Ball game. The speech therapist invites the children, passing the ball to each other in a circle, to name different flowers and the places where they grow. Make sure that children do not repeat themselves. For example: Garden flower - rose. Wildflower - cornflower.
"Call me kindly"	Ball game. Children and speech therapist stand in a circle. The speech therapist names any flower and its sign, for example: “White daisy,” and throws the ball to one of the children. The child catches the ball, calls this flower and the sign affectionately: “Little white daisy,” and returns the ball to the speech therapist. Game continues.
"Say it the other way around"	Ball game. Children stand in a semicircle in front of the speech therapist. The speech therapist names the phrase and throws the ball to one of the children. The child catches the ball, calls the phrase “on the contrary” (antonym), and returns the ball to the speech therapist. Game continues. For example: Large flower. - Small flower.

Physical education minute. At the discretion of the speech therapist.

II.Main part of the lesson

1. Explanation of the meanings of polysemantic words and proverbs.

The speech therapist explains to children the meanings of the polysemantic words leaf, root, color and the proverb “Spring is red with flowers, and autumn with sheaves.”

2. Formation of verbs with various prefixes from the verb “to pour”.

Speech therapist. In front of me on the table is a jug of water, a glass, a small watering can and an indoor flower. I will perform some actions, and you name them.

The speech therapist performs various actions with water. For example: from a jug of water into a glass on pours, from a glass of water into a watering can re pours, from a watering can with water By pours, water from a jug You pours etc.

Speech therapist. You and I can also use action words pour form many related words using various prefixes (parts of words that come in front). For example: pour, add, pour, pour, pour... I will start sentences, and you finish them, choosing the right action words.

You need a flower from a watering can... (Water.)

There is not enough water in the kettle, you need to add water to it, or... (Add up.)

Too much tea was poured into the cup.

To make drinking more convenient, you need to put the tea in a different cup... (Pour.)

From glass to glass of water you can... (Pour over.)

Dirty water needs... (Pour out)

3. Compiling a retelling of the text based on a series of plot paintings.

Speech therapist. Today in class we will learn to compose a retelling of the text about how Masha grew garden flowers.

JobValbums (album 1, p. 31). The speech therapist asks children questions about the text they read and makes sure that the children give complete answers. After this, the children make up a retelling of each part of the text based on the pictures in the series.

III. Summing up the lesson

The speech therapist sums up the lesson. Thanks the children for their efforts.

Lesson 62. “A magic flower in good hands”

Target: Writing creative stories about “magic” flowers.

Tasks:

Activate vocabulary on the topic “Flowers and Herbs”;

Teach children to understand the meanings of figurative expressions and sayings;

Teach children to correctly agree nouns with numerals one, two, three, five;

Teach children to compose creative stories about “magic” flowers from their imagination;

To develop voluntary attention, imagination, and logical thinking of children.

Equipment: pictures with images of garden, wild and forest flowers, a “magic wand”, special and prize chips, a magnetic marker board.

Progress of the lesson

I.Speech warm-up

Physical education minute. At the discretion of the speech therapist.

It was the height of winter. In the forest, trees cracked from the frost. In the mornings the sun rose red, like a polished copper basin. It rose low above the horizon and hardly warmed the earth. The bushes and trees were covered with white sparkling frost, and the sky looked like blue frozen ice. And the silver tops of the trees were drawn even brighter on it.

In the enchanted kingdom of Santa Claus, everything was beautiful, but lifeless. The animals hid from the cold in holes, in lairs, insects climbed into deep crevices and fell asleep there in a deep sleep. Only the birds flew through the fields and forests, trying to find at least a little food. They ruffled their feathers and were silent. At this time they had no time for screams or songs.

But then one day, cheerful, noisy birds - crossbills - flew into the forest. They were larger than sparrows and dressed much more elegantly. The females had greenish feathers, while the males had an orange-red tint. But the most surprising thing that immediately struck me about the crossbills’ appearance was their beaks.

Different birds have different beak shapes. The tit's is as thin as a needle; With such a beak it is very convenient to pull bugs out of narrow crevices. The woodpecker has a strong, short beak; It’s good for them to chisel the bark, extract woodcutter beetles from under it, or peck at conifer cones. But a hawk or a kite has a sharp beak, curved down. These are birds of prey. With their hooked beak, they deftly grab prey and tear it into pieces.

The beaks of the crossbill birds had a completely amazing shape - also sharp, hooked, but they were only curved not downwards, but in different directions: the upper half of the beak was curved in one direction, and the lower half in a completely different direction. This beak most closely resembled crooked tongs.

Oh, and noses! - they were surprised, looking at the crossbills, goldfinches and tits. - How can they peck food or chisel something? Those are freaks!

But the crooked birds did not lose heart. On the contrary, in the gloomy winter forest they felt perfectly at home. These were natural northerners. They migrated to that forest from the far north - from the taiga. There, in the taiga, it is even colder and there is even less food.

Having flown to a new place, the crossbills first of all settled on the tops of pines and spruces.

Oh, how many ripe cones there are here! - they rejoiced. - What delicious seeds they contain! This is where the freedom is!

The old spotted woodpecker became very interested in his winged neighbors. The woodpecker also fed on pine cone seeds in winter, but he became very good at chiseling them with his strong beak. He will pick a pine or spruce cone, stick it in a crevice of a tree and let’s hit it with his beak as hard as he can, pulling out delicious seeds from under the scales. He pulls everything out, then flies for a new lump and carries it to the same crevice. He throws out the empty one, puts in a new, full one, and starts hammering again.

In the snow under the tree where the woodpecker is working, there is a whole bunch of empty, pecked cones. It’s not for nothing that such a tree with a crack is called a “forest forge,” and the woodpecker himself is called a “blacksmith.”

A woodpecker flew to the tree where the crossbills sat and began to watch how they would crush the cones with their crooked noses. But the crossbills did not even think of doing this. They dealt with them completely differently. The crossbill will cling to the cone with sharp claws, sometimes even hang on it, as if on a swing, thrust its crooked, curved beak under the scales and begin to pull out from under them one seed after another. Things are going no worse than with the woodpecker.

The woodpecker looked at the crossbills, shook his head, then picked a ripe cone and flew to his smithy.

The crossbill birds lived well in the new forest: plenty of cones, what more do you need! So they stayed there for the winter.

But the busy birds didn’t like that the winter forest was so dull, no better than the gloomy taiga.

“How can we make it more fun in the forest?” - thought a young crossbill bird, sitting on a branch hung with ripe cones.

Why do all the birds sing in the spring, but now they are silent? - she asked the tit jumping on the branches.

She even spread her wings in surprise and sat down on a branch nearby.

Don’t you know - in the spring we all build nests and hatch chicks. Spring is the most wonderful time, so we sing.

So let's now build nests, hatch chicks, let's sing funny songs now!

In response, the tit just shook its head.

You are a strange bird! - she said. - Who builds nests and raises children in winter? Yes, they will freeze immediately. And there is nothing to feed them - after all, all the bugs and insects hid in deep cracks and cracks until spring.

But I’ll still try! - the crossbill bird answered cheerfully. - We are northerners, we are not afraid of any frost. And how much food there is. - And she pointed her wing at the ripe cones.

The tit didn't tell her anything. How could she respond to such stupid and funny words! Let the boastful crossbill build a nest in winter and lay eggs in it. It will serve her right if all the eggs in her nest freeze and disappear. Next time he will be smarter.

But the brave bird really liked her own idea, and she immediately told her red-feathered friend the crossbill about it.

He happily agreed, and both birds began to build a nest.

First of all, it was necessary to find a suitable place for the nest. After examining many trees, the crossbills finally chose an old, dense spruce. She was all covered in snow. Under his weight, the branches drooped down. And deep caves darkened between the snow-covered branches. They led into a thicket of branches. And it was there, on a thick branch, near the trunk itself, that the birds decided to build their nest. They made it from thin twigs and twigs, and lined the nest tray with soft lichens and moss.

Look how nice and cozy it is here! - the female crossbill rejoiced, showing her friend a snowy blue cave, inside of which there was a nest. - Here the wind doesn’t blow, and the frost is not so angry.

The red crossbill agreed with his friend in everything. Or maybe he, a true northerner, really liked the cold winter.

Finally the nest was completely ready. The female laid eggs there and sat down to incubate them. She almost never left the nest so that the eggs would not freeze in the severe frost. The crossbill fed her. He took seeds from pine cones and brought them in his mouth to his girlfriend. Having fed her to the full, the caring crossbill sat down on a branch nearby and sang a cheerful song, as if in spring, in a green, flowering forest.

Only now this song was listened to by white snow-covered trees and the sensitive, ringing silence of the winter forest.

Sometimes a hare will run across a clearing, hear a bird song, prick up its ears, wiggle its mustache, and disappear into the thicket of bushes.

For two weeks the stubborn bird sat without leaving the nest.

In addition to the crossbill, she was occasionally visited by a tit. He will look into the blue cave and slyly chirp:

How are you? Are you still sitting?

“I’m sitting,” the crossbill bird calmly answered.

Sit, sit, and I’ll fly to the village. Maybe you’ll be able to peck some crumbs. - And the tit flew away.

Finally, one cold, frosty day, the crossbill bird felt that the shell of the egg under her had burst. This is the first chick hatching. Behind him a second, third, fourth appeared... They all hatched naked, blind, completely helpless.

“As if they really wouldn’t freeze,” the mother bird became worried and fluffed up even more, covering her babies.

Summary of an open lesson for parents

on familiarization with fiction in the senior group.

Subject: “Retelling the story of Skrebitsky G.A. "Spring"

with the addition of subsequent events"
Conducted by teacher Vlasova I.T.

GBOU D/S No. 2526

Goals and objectives:

- Educational: continue to introduce the signs of spring, teach to guess a riddle about spring, expand my knowledge about the work of the children's writer G.A. Skrebitsky, read an excerpt from the story “Spring”, teach to listen carefully to the text and answer questions about the content, teach to add subsequent events, logically completing the story.

- Developmental : develop the ability to select the necessary verbs, nouns and adjectives; develop creative imagination and logical thinking.

- Educational: cultivate interest in ongoing changes in nature .
Materials for the lesson : toy bunny, photograph by G.A. Skrebitsky, text of the story “Spring”, supporting pictures, illustration with a spring landscape.
Methodical techniques : a surprise moment, guessing a riddle, reading a poem by heart, looking at an illustration, reading a work, conversation, retelling, working with reference pictures.

Lexical material:

Preliminary work : memorizing a poem by Pozharova M.A. “Spring has come”, verbal didactic games: “Say otherwise” (synonyms), “Pick up the signs” (spring, water, streams, ...), looking at illustrations about spring.

HOW TO DO:

1.Organizational part. Conversation about spring.

Educator(shows the children a bunny toy): Guys, a bunny came to visit us. He wants to tell us a riddle. What time of year are we talking about?
The snow is melting, the day is coming,

When does this happen? (Spring)

Educator: That's right, we are talking about spring. It is in the spring that the hare changes its white coat to a gray one.

Who can tell us the spring months? ( March April May.)

What month is it now? (April.)

What do people call this month? (April is a snowman or April is an Aquarius.)

Why? (Children's answers.)

(Draws attention to the illustration with a spring landscape.) Let's make sentences about spring. (You can use reference pictures).

Game "Think, answer"

Snow in spring... (what does it do?) turns black, melts, becomes gray.

Icicles (what do they do?) melt in the sun.

In spring the sun (what does it do?) warms up, shines brighter.

Buds on trees... swell

Creek… runs, murmurs, flows.

Bear … wakes up and leaves the den.

They appear in forest clearings..(what?) the first thawed patches, snowdrops, young grass.

Birds in the spring...(which ones?) ringing, joyful, vociferous.
Educator: Guys, spring is a very beautiful time of year. All nature wakes up from sleep and rejoices in the long day and warm sun. There are many works about spring in Russian literature. Let's read the poem by M.A. Pozharova, which is called “Spring has come”

Children read the poem by heart:

Spring came.

The forests are rustling, the earth is blooming,

The stream sings and rings:

"Spring has come, spring has come-

In clothes made of rays!
Children's hearts rejoice,

Striving into the expanse of meadows:

"Spring has come, spring has come-

in a garland of flowers!
2. Main part. Retelling of the story by Skrebitsky G.A. "Spring"

1) Conversation about the writer.

Educator:

- Children, I’ll now read to you a story by Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky (1903-1964) (Shows a photograph of the writer. Tells facts from his biography.)
Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky was born on July 20, 1903 in Moscow. At the age of four, he and his whole family moved to live in the Tula province, in the small town of Chern. Childhood impressions of the dim nature of these places remained forever in the memory of the future writer. The family where the boy grew up loved nature very much, and the future writer’s adoptive father was an avid hunter and fisherman, and managed to pass on his hobbies to the boy. Sincere love for nature, which appeared and was realized in childhood and adolescence, became a guideline for Georgy Skrebitsky’s entire life path. His books are widely popular not only in our country, but also abroad...
2) Reading the story of Skrebitsky G.A. "Spring"

SPRING.

The spring has warmed up Sun

trickle,

bugs and insects triton. Awoke lizard, I got out of the hole on the very stump and sat down in the sun to bask. And the frogs also woke up from their winter sleep, jumped in the puddle - splashing right into the water.

Suddenly something rustled under a pile of brushwood...
Educator parses the lexical meaning of new words:

Hillock- a small hill at the foot of the mountain.

hollow- a narrow shallow ravine.

Trash– old rotten branches and tree bark.

Brushwood – dry fallen thin branches.
Educator asks questions about the content of the text:

What did the spring sun do?

How did the stream run?

What happened to winter apartments?

What about bugs and insects?

What did Triton do?

What was the lizard doing on the stump? What about frogs?

Who appeared from under the brushwood? (Children's versions.)

Dynamic pause “Does it happen in spring or not?”

Children stand near the chairs. They listen carefully to signs. If it happens in the spring, they clap. If not, then they squat down.

3) Repeated reading of the story, retelling with additionsubsequent events

Children compose a retelling using reference pictures.

4) The teacher reads the writer’s version (continuation of the story).
...Suddenly, under a pile of brushwood, something rustled and moved, and a hedgehog crawled out. He came out sleepy and disheveled. There was dry grass and leaves on the needles. The hedgehog climbed out onto a hillock, yawned, stretched and began to clean the rubbish from the thorns with his paw. It’s difficult for him to do this: his legs are short, they can’t reach his back. He cleaned himself a little, then sat down more comfortably and began to lick the belly with his tongue. The hedgehog washed himself, cleaned himself up and ran across the clearing to look for food. Now he, beetles, worms, frogs, better not get caught: now the hedgehog is hungry, he will immediately catch and eat.
3. Final part. Summary of the lesson.

Educator asks the children which version did they like best? Why?

children share their impressions. The teacher thanks you for the lesson.

Literature:

O.S. Gomzyak. Development of coherent speech in six-year-old children.

Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich

The spring has warmed up Sun. The snow began to melt in the forest clearing. And another day passed, then another, and it was completely gone.

A cheerful man ran down the hill along the hollow trickle, filled a large, deep puddle to the brim, overflowed and ran further into the forest.

The winter apartments in the old stump were empty, they got out from under the bark bugs and insects, spread their wings and flew somewhere. A long-tailed creature crawled out of the dust triton. Awoke lizard, I got out of the hole on the very stump and sat down in the sun to bask. AND frogs We also woke up from our winter sleep, jumped into a puddle, and fell straight into the water.

Suddenly, under a pile of brushwood, something rustled...it moved, and I got out of there hedgehog. He came out sleepy and disheveled. There was dry grass and leaves on the needles. The hedgehog climbed out onto a hillock, yawned, stretched and began to clean the rubbish from the thorns with his paw. It’s difficult for him to do this: his legs are short, they can’t reach his back. I cleaned myself a little, then sat down

Mid-April. The snow in the fields has already all melted and is only turning white here and there along the ravines. Sometimes at noon the sun gets so hot that it becomes hot, just like summer.

Butterflies fly in the garden: variegated wrens and lemongrass, yellow as an autumn leaf.

Mikhalych and I had already caught one of these butterflies, euthanized them with ether, spread their wings, and left them to dry. This is the first collection of our future collection.

In the evenings, Mikhalych and I are busy with important work - filling cartridges for woodcock hunting. We work just the two of us - Seryozha is not here, he went on spring break to his mother.

But then I work for two: I help Mikhalych pour shot into the cartridges and plug them with round cardboard plugs. They are called wads.

When mom passes us, she shakes her head disapprovingly:

Make sure it doesn't all explode.

Madam, what are you talking about? - Mikhalych is surprised. - We load cartridges with shot. Can shot explode?!

“Anything can happen,” my mother answers evasively. - It will fall to the floor and explode.

Then, to prove the groundlessness of such fears, I jump up from my chair, throw a few pellets on the floor and start dancing on them:

You see, nothing explodes!

Mikhalych and I are busy with an important task - we are filling cartridges for hunting woodcock.

But mom just shrugs it off:

Well, you are absolutely scary to look at! She hurriedly leaves, and we continue the interrupted lesson.

In these spring days, Mikhalych was not only preparing for the hunt - he had already been there twice, although so far without results. He says: it’s still early, it’s a little cold in the forest, and the woodcocks are not pulling well.

But then one day the sky was overcast with clouds, lightning flashed, and the first clap of thunder cracked and rumbled deafeningly above our house.

A door slammed somewhere, a chill ran through the room, and my mother’s voice was heard:

Close the windows, thunderstorm!

The house immediately went dark. And through the glass of the window I saw how the bare tops of the birches in the garden seemed to all be askance in one direction and their branches fluttered. A flash of lightning, another clap of thunder, and now large drops of rain were drumming on the roof and on the glass windows.

At this time, the front door opened wide, and Mikhalych entered the hallway. Traces of rain could be seen in dark circles on his hat and coat, a large drop sparkled on his nose, and his whole face was shining.

Congratulations on your first thunderstorm! - he announced. - Now it will immediately become warmer. - He looked at me meaningfully. - Well, young man, if the rain subsides in the evening, shouldn’t you and I go into the forest and see how our weevils are doing there? After a warm rain, they will probably stretch well!

I looked at my mother with prayer and hope: whether she would allow it or not.

Yes, go ahead, what can you do!

In response, I let out such a triumphant cry that the fat cat Ivanovich jumped off the sofa in fright and flew up like an arrow onto the closet.

“If only the rain wouldn’t hurt!” - I was worried.

But not even half an hour had passed before the rain stopped, heavy clouds fell over the tops of the garden, the sun came out and the warm wet earth in the yard and garden seemed to smoke.

After lunch, preparations for the hunt began. I dressed in a short, warm jacket and sadly began to pull deep galoshes onto my shoes. “Well, what kind of hunter wears galoshes!”

But this is a gift from me! - Mom suddenly said, entering the room and handing me real, brand new boots.

My vision even went dark. I grabbed the boots, I don’t remember if I thanked them for them. But what can words add where everything is already clear without any words?

A short jacket and trousers tucked into boots is no longer a joke!

I immediately felt like a real hunter. I really wanted to ride like a goat, but it was impossible. I put my hands in my pockets and walked sedately around the room, sniffing with pleasure the sour smell of fresh cowhide, which, like the aroma of perfume, flowed from my new boots.

I walked back and forth, and my mother stood in the corner and looked at me with a smile. It’s hard to say which of the two of us was happier at that moment.

Suddenly, confident steps were heard outside the door. Mikhalych entered, already ready to set off, in a padded jacket, boots, and also with a gun, a bandoleer, and a bag for future game.

“Uh, brother,” he exclaimed, looking at my boots, “you’re quite real, like a hunter!” What a deal! Well, let's go, let's go, there's no point in wasting time.

We went out onto the porch. And then, quite unexpectedly, Mikhalych took the gun off his shoulder and handed it to me:

Hold it, it’s getting in the way of editing.

Oh happiness! I'm not only wearing boots, but also with a real double-barreled shotgun. Now let's go down the street. Everyone will probably be looking at me.

We got into the chaise and drove off.

This year, after winter, for the first time I rode not on a sleigh, but on wheels. How merrily they rumble along the uneven cobblestone pavement! Mikhalych rules, and I sit next to him and hold a gun in my hands, holding it so that it can be seen as clearly as possible from everywhere. As we drive through the city, we meet acquaintances at every step. We greet everyone, and they all, of course, look with respect, and perhaps with envy, at the boot I displayed from the charabanc and at my gun. Undoubtedly, they are sure that this is my gun, and Mikhalychevo lies right there, somewhere on the seat. But the town was left behind, and we drove briskly along a flat, smooth highway.

There are fields all around. Young winter crops have already woken up from their winter sleep, they stand even, green, and in some places they have even thickened. Here and there, rooks walk through the bright, lush greenery or fly over the field, cheerfully shouting: “Gra-gra-rpa!” Mikhalych pulls on the reins, stops the horse to take out a cigarette and light a cigarette.

Do you hear, Yura? - he says, listening to something.

I immediately understand what we are talking about. From somewhere above, the incessant songs of larks can be heard. They ring from right and left, sounding from everywhere. The whole sky, the whole air is filled with them. But you won’t notice the singers themselves right away. Yes, there one of them seems to be hanging on an invisible thread and trembling high, high above the field.

A match struck. The pleasant smoke from the cigarette wafted into my face. We moved on.

Mikhalych, who is flying there? - I asked, pointing to two birds the size of jackdaws.

They had black wings and a black head, and their abdomen was completely white. They funnyly chased each other in the air, somersaulted in flight, as if playing, and shouted loudly in hoarse voices. They seemed to be asking each other, “Whose are you, whose are you?”

Don't you recognize it? - Mikhalych was surprised. - Yes, these are lapwings. I brought this back from hunting last year.

I remember, I remember,” I was delighted, “handsome, with a crest!”

And how delicious it was! - Mikhalych winked. - Remember, fried, with sour cream!

I, of course, had forgotten about this a long time ago, but in order not to upset Mikhalych, I nodded my head affirmatively.

We passed the field. Here is the forest ahead. It does not stretch as a continuous mass, but spreads out in separate holes along the slopes of the hillocks. To the side of the highway, at the very edge, you can see a village. Mikhalych turns onto a dirt road, and our wheels roll gently along the still wet rut. The horse's hooves smack loudly in the mud, gray mud cakes flying straight into his face.

We approach the village and leave the horse at the very last house.

“Oh, how I don’t want to give Mikhalych the gun! Although it is very heavy, I would be glad to carry it even three times heavier, just not to part with it.”

We entered the forest. Young aspen and birch trees descend here along the slope to a wide meadow. There is a road among the trees. They carried firewood along it in the winter, but now the ruts are filled to the brim with melt water - such mud that you can’t get through it either on a sleigh or a cart. But nearby, along the side of the road, a completely dry walking path winds its way. Along it we go deeper into the forest.

This is where you really feel spring! The branches of the aspens seem fluffy with long catkins that look like gray furry caterpillars, and the tops of the young birches also seem to have thickened; They became completely chocolate colored. You look up close at a birch twig, and it’s covered in large, swollen buds. Another day, another - the buds will burst, and bright green tongues of young leaves will appear from them.

But so far there are no leaves on either the birches or aspens.

This is the best time in the forest. It has not yet turned green, it stands so transparent, joyful, full of spring-like sunshine and birdsong, whistling and chirping that never stops for a minute.

And how wonderfully it smells of thawed earth, last year’s rotten leaves and the bitter freshness of tree buds!

Sniff it, brother, sniff it better! - Mikhalych says cheerfully. - It smells like spring itself. You can't buy such perfume for any money.

And I sniff, with all my might I draw in the invigorating smell of the spring forest.

I look around vigilantly. I peer into the colorful canopy of fallen leaves and see if I notice somewhere under a bush a woodcock sandpiper lurking.

Woodcock is nowhere to be seen, but in the clearing, near a large light puddle, I notice something pinkish-blue. I run to have a look. This is a lungwort flower blooming. On a thick green stem there are individual flowers that look like tiny jugs; the upper ones are soft pink, and the lower ones are purple.

Mikhalych, why does the lungwort have flowers of different colors? - I ask.

From time to time, says Mikhalych. - At first they are pink, and then after a day or two they turn blue. Mikhalych looks at the flower and admires it.

Lungwort! - he says somehow in a singsong voice. - Do you remember, Yura, how Sadko remembers her in the underwater palace of the water king:

Now, tea, and birds, and every animal We have fun on earth; Having broken through last year's leaf, now A lungwort turns blue in the forest. In the fresh, green, young forest Smells like fragrant birch And the heart is in me, I just think about it, He languishes and languishes.

How many, many times did Mikhalych read these poems to me in the evenings in his office! But here, in the spring forest, when I see with my own eyes a lungwort flower among last year’s fallen leaves, the familiar lines sound somehow new, somehow especially bright.

We come out into a small clearing. Young birch trees crowd around her. In the middle there is a blue spring puddle, like an oblong mirror, full to the brim of clear snow water.

I run up to her and look into the water. It is so clean that every last year’s leaf, every sunken twig is clearly visible at the bottom.

Frogs are swimming animatedly on the surface of the puddle. They stare at me with bulging eyes, but are not afraid, do not want to dive, on the contrary, as if greeting me, they make some kind of rumbling greeting sounds.

Hello Hello! - I answer them. - Congratulations on your light steam!

“They didn’t come to swim at all,” Mikhalych says, approaching me. They came here for an important task: to lay eggs.

We move to the edge of the clearing. Mikhalych sits down on a wide stump, leans his gun against a birch tree, takes out a cigarette, and lights a cigarette.

Okay, my brother! We've made it to spring.

It's already evening. The sun, like a polished copper basin, seems to hang over a distant forest. It doesn’t blind the eyes at all, it’s so huge and reddish. But a long silvery cloud appeared right on it.

Look, they put the fish in a copper basin,” I show Mikhalych.

You're always coming up with ideas! - he smiles and immediately adds: - As soon as the sun sets behind the forest, the craving will begin.

Oh, if only it would sit down sooner! - I say, jumping from foot to foot with impatience.

“Everything will happen in due time,” Mikhalych answers. - Don't jump. Better look how nice it is all around, listen to how the birds sing. Blackbirds, what thrushes are carving!

Indeed, from the nearby bushes the desperate chattering of blackbirds can be heard.

A tawny jay quickly flies across the clearing and disappears into the forest. And now her loud, unpleasant cry is heard from there, similar to the cry of a frightened cat.

Finally the sun completely disappeared behind the forest. A warm evening dawn spread brightly across the sky. The bird noise began to subside little by little. But the frogs purred louder and more excitedly in the puddle.

Well, brother, now let’s watch and listen,” said Mikhalych. - Let's stand here, under the birch tree. We are not very noticeable here.

We settled down better and froze in anticipation. I strained my hearing and vision with all my might. I really wanted to be the first to hear the desired weevil. But it’s not so easy when the frogs are grumbling uncontrollably in a puddle. And then a song thrush sat down on the very top of an old birch tree and whistled and chirped throughout the forest. Try to hear the hoot of a woodcock in such a commotion.

Listen, it's flying! - Mikhalych whispered excitedly.

Where where? - I didn't hear anything.

But Mikhalych only waved his hand: be silent, and, having prepared his gun, began to look intensely into the distance, to where the dawn spread over the small forest like a wide golden stream.

And suddenly I clearly saw above the tops of the young birches the dark silhouette of some funny, tailless bird the size of a dove.

Routinely flapping its short wings, the bird flew over the small forest. At the same moment I heard her voice: a short, abrupt whistle: “Stic-stic, stic-stic!” - and then a low guttural grunt: “Hor-hor, hor-hor!”

Woodcock! There was no doubt about it. How many times in the winter did Mikhalych tell me about cravings and imitate the voice of the forest weevil. Now we both listened with bated breath to these strange, incomparable sounds and followed the direction of flight of the desired bird. Alas! The woodcock flew two hundred paces away from us, far out of range. So he disappeared behind the tops of the forest.

Again minutes of agonizing waiting. But now I had already heard exactly how a real live woodcock screams, I knew what to listen for, what to expect. And then a barely perceptible, already familiar whistle reached my ear. Louder, even louder.

It's flying, it's flying! - I whispered, breathless with excitement.

Where where? I can not hear!

Yes, over there, somewhere to the right.

Whistling and grunting were already heard clearly. And a woodcock flew straight at us from behind the nearby birches. He flew at dawn and seemed no longer dark, but somehow red. His straight, stick-like, downward beak was especially clearly visible.

It seemed to me that he was not flying over the forest, but was about to land in our clearing. But at that moment a shot rang out right in front of my ear. Woodcock darted to the side. Another shot. And the forest weevil, as if not attaching any more importance to these deafening sounds, flapped its wings just as smoothly and, whistling and croaking in the same way, flew further over the forest.

Oh, what a shame! “He hit me right on the head,” Mikhalych was upset, taking out a cigarette and nervously lighting a cigarette. - I couldn’t miss like that. Apparently the gunpowder is old, damp, and completely unusable.

So, let's go home now, we won't shoot anymore?! - I was horrified.

But Mikhalych smoked and recovered a little from his excitement.

Well, why don't we? - he said. - One cartridge could be damp, while the others are good.

The agonizing wait began again. Several times we heard the welcome whistles and grunts, several times we saw woodcocks flying, but they all flew far beyond the shot.

It began to get dark quickly. The sky turned blue, the first dim stars were already shining in it, and the dawn over the forest almost completely went out.

Well, it's time to go home! “Today there is no game again,” Mikhalych said sadly, throwing his gun over his shoulder.

Wait, it's flying! - I almost screamed. - Here he is, above us.

The dark silhouette of the bird was barely visible in the twilight of the evening.

I do not see!

Woodcock flew out into the dawn.

Ah, here it is!

Shot, second... And the bird, taking an oblique downward dive, seemed to dive into the dark thicket of the forest.

Looks like it's ready! - Mikhalych shouted excitedly, rushing in the direction where the woodcock had disappeared.

From a distance in the darkness there seemed to be a thick thicket there, but in reality it was a sparse growth of birch and aspen trees. But can you really find a bird in the dark the same color as fallen leaves and dry grass from last year? They searched everything around, it seems, every hole, every bump was examined. Mikhalych burned almost all the matches. No, not anywhere.

Or maybe he didn’t fall,” Mikhalych said. - Woodcock will often somersault down after a shot, and then level off and fly further. Let's go home, brother. You won't see anything anyway.

I trudged sadly after Mikhalych. I passed by a young birch tree. Suddenly it seemed to me that something moved on her. Bird, animal? I paused. And then, right before my eyes, in the fork of the trunk, again someone barely moved.

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed something warm, covered in feathers.

Woodcock! Hurray, woodcock! - I screamed throughout the forest.

What woodcock, where is it? - Mikhalych ran up to me. - Where did you find him? Well done!

On the tree, he was still alive, fluttering his wings.

I showed a fork on the birch trunk.

It was he who fell, which means he got stuck here,” Mikhalych guessed. - And fluttered for the last time. Or maybe the breeze moved the wing, and you noticed. Oh, and the eyes! Just like an owl - they can see it even at night.

Mikhalych took the bag from his shoulder, put the killed woodcock in it and put the bag over my shoulder.

Carry it yourself. This is your prey.

And yours too, because you shot him.

Well, okay, let it be common! - answered Mikhalych. - For the sake of such luck, you need to sit for a minute and smoke a cigarette.

We sat down in the middle of the clearing on a hillock just above the puddle. From there you could hear the melodious purring of frogs.

A blue firefly-like star reflected dimly in the dark water.

Mikhalych looked at her and, as if remembering something, began to read poems by A. Tolstoy:

And wilderness and silence. Only sleepy blackbirds reluctantly finish their song; Steam rises from the meadow... A reflection of a twinkling star appeared in the water at my feet...

He was silent for a moment and continued:

But why suddenly, painfully and strangely, did the past suddenly blow on me...

And again before me, in the midst of a lucid dream, Did the lost spring of my days flash?

Yes, brother, “lost spring,” he repeated, standing up. - All this is sad. But nothing can be done.

What's so sad about this: the draft is good, and the woodcock was found? - I was surprised.

Live as long as I lived, then you will understand,” answered Mikhalych.

And we went to the village.

Presentation for a reading lesson. Topic: “Works about spring”

Completed by: Ruleva Galina Nikolaevna