The lark with his hands

Stories for children about birds. Sparrow on the clock

Author: Leo Tolstoy Young little sparrows jumped in the garden on the walkway.
And the old sparrow perched high on a branch of a tree and gazing vigilantly if the bird of prey would not seem.
Flies in the backyard-robber. He is a fierce enemy of a petty bird. A hawk flies quietly, without noise.
But the old sparrow spotted the villain and watched him.
Hawk is closer and closer.
A sparrow loudly and anxiously screamed, and all the sparrows disappeared into the bushes at once.
Everything is quiet.
Only a sparrow-sentry sits on a branch. He does not move, does not take his eyes off the hawk.
I noticed the hawk of an old sparrow, flapped its wings, spread its claws and went down with an arrow.
A stone sparrow fell into the bushes.
The hawk was left with nothing.
He looks around. Evil took the predator. His yellow eyes burn with fire.
The robber got up and flew on. Again the sparrow sat down on the same branch. Sits and tweets cheerfully.
With the noise of sparrows poured out of the bushes, jump along the path. Starlings


Author: Kuprin Alexander Ivanovich

... We were looking forward to when old acquaintances — starlings, these lovely, cheerful, sociable birds, the first migratory guests, joyful heralds of spring — would fly to our garden again.

So, we waited for the starlings. Tweaked old birdhouses, wry from the winter winds, hung up new ones.

... Sparrows imagined that this courtesy was being done for them, and immediately, at the first heat, the birdhouses occupied.

Finally, on the nineteenth, in the evening (it was still light), someone shouted: “Look - starlings!”

And indeed, they sat high on the branches of the poplars and, after the sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black ...

For two days the starlings just gained strength and everyone hung up and looked at last year’s familiar places. And then began the eviction of the sparrows. Especially the violent clashes between starlings and sparrows while I did not notice. Usually, two scurrous men sit high above the nesting boxes and, apparently, blithely talk about something among themselves, while themselves with one eye squinted, gazing intently down. Sparrow creepy and hard. No, no - he would stick out his sharp, sly nose from a round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, levity, and perhaps shyness make themselves felt. “I fly,” he thinks, “for a moment and now back. Perhaps outwitted. Perhaps they will not notice. ” And only have time to fly off on sazhen, like a starling stone down and already at home.

And now the end of the passerine has come to an end. Starlings guard the nest alternately: one sits - the other flies on business. Sparrows never think of such a trick.

... And now, with grief, great battles begin between sparrows, during which down and feathers fly into the air. And the starlings sit high in the trees and even podzadorivayut: "Hey, you, blackhead! You over that yellow-breasted, forever and ever not overpower. " - "How? To me? Yes, I have it now! "-" Come on, come on ... "

And go dump. However, in spring all animals and birds ... fight much more ... Starling Song

Author: Kuprin Alexander Ivanovich

The air was a little warmer, and the starlings had already settled on the high branches and began their concert. I don’t know if the starling has its own motives, but you’ll hear enough of anything else in his song. Here and pieces of the nightingale trills, and the sharp meowing of the orioles, and the sweet voice of the robin, and the musical chattering of the chiffchaff, and the thin whistle of the titmouse, and among these melodies such voices are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you will not restrain yourself and laugh: the hen cackles on the tree , will grind the knife of the grinder, will squeak a door, will fill in a children's military pipe. And, having made this unexpected musical retreat, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without respite, continues its cheerful, sweet, humorous song. Lark

Sokolov-Mikitov Ivan Sergeevich

Of the many sounds of the earth: the singing of birds, the fluttering of foliage in the trees, the cod of grasshoppers, the murmuring of a forest stream - the most cheerful and joyful sound - the song of the field and meadow larks. Even in early spring, when there was loose snow in the fields, but already here and there dark dark patalinae appeared on the surface, our early spring guests arrived and began to sing. A pillar rising into the sky, fluttering with wings, pierced through by sunlight, higher and higher, the lark flies up into the sky, disappears into shining blueness. Amazingly beautiful, ring the lark song, welcoming the arrival of spring. On the breath of the awakened lands like this joyous song.

Many great composers in their musical works tried to depict this joyful song ...

Much can be heard in the awakening spring forest. Grouse thinly squeak, invisible owls walking at night. On an impassable swamp, spring round dances of flown cranes lead. Bees are buzzing above the yellow golden down jackets of blooming willow. And in the bushes on the river bank he clicked, the first nightingale loudly sang. Swan

Author: Aksakov Sergey Timofeevich

Swan in its size, strength, beauty and stately posture has long and rightly been called the king of all water, or waterfowl, birds. White as snow, with brilliant, transparent small eyes, with a black nose and black paws, with a long, flexible and beautiful neck, it is inexpressibly beautiful when calmly swimming between green reeds along a dark blue, smooth surface of water. Swan Movements

Author: Aksakov Sergey Timofeevich

All the movements of the swan are full of charms: will he start to drink and, after scooping up water with his nose, will he lift his head up and stretch his neck; whether it will begin to swim, dive and splash its mighty wings, scattering water splashes far from its fluffy body; whether then he will start ohoreshivatsya, easily and freely throwing his snow-white neck backwards, straightening and wrinkling or crumpled feathers with his nose on his back, sides and tail; whether the wing will disperse in the air, as if a long oblique sail, and will also begin to touch every feather in it, winding and drying it in the sun, everything is picturesque and magnificent in it. More stories about birds: "Swans" Leo Tolstoy
"Chicken and Ducklings" Konstantin Ushinsky
"Yasha" E.I. Charushin
"Sparrow" E.I. Charushin

See also: Speech Development Lessons

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