Especially beautiful in autumn in the forest. Composition on the theme of autumn. How the leaves of different trees and shrubs change color in autumn
Nature in any season is very beautiful, even if there is not a single leaf on the tree, and the snow has not yet fallen, or vice versa. When it rains or sleet, people are able to lose heart, the mood changes, and nature benefits. Describing the autumn forest is a truly creative activity. Each person will describe this moment in their own way.
How beautiful to describe autumn?
Do you know what writers and journalists do sometimes? They describe here and now what they see! The most vivid impressions can be obtained at the present time. It is not necessary to keep a notebook and a pen in your hands all the time. You need to be able to feel, feel and see the world around you.
Enter any forest in early October, when the foliage has not yet fallen and decorates the world with bright colors. What sensations arise from this? Quiet, calm, in the soul a state of bliss. A person understands that he has escaped from the gray environment to an interesting place, it is impossible not to make a description of the autumn forest at least in his thoughts. The composition will turn out to be original, interesting, if you just sit somewhere on a hummock or stump and leave all your worries behind. Sit in silence, without extraneous thoughts for at least 10 minutes. There will be a feeling of calmness. Of course, it will be difficult for a student to explain why this should be done, so it is better for him to arrange a short excursion.
Listen to wildlife!
Parents themselves should be interested in the world around them. It would be ideal if they know something about trees, animals, mushrooms in basics. If you wish, you can even come to the forest with an encyclopedia of natural history. You can have a fun game. Show the child in the encyclopedia any tree that can grow in your area. Let him find him, see what color his leaves are in autumn.
And what interest are mushrooms! Together look for mushrooms under the fallen leaves. It is possible that they will not be if the temperature is below 10 degrees at night. A beautiful description of the autumn forest can be made during such a walk in different versions. It is impossible to cover everything at once: trees, birdsong, animals, bushes. I want to talk about everything in detail.
How else to explain to a child about feelings? As mentioned before, it is advisable to sit together on a stump and sit in silence. You can ask him a question: "How do you like it here? Do you like it? Do you hear the birds singing?"
Eye charm
Now you can experiment by translating the description of the autumn forest from memory to paper. It is important not to forget to make an introductory part, then the main part and a conclusion. Naturally, the main part is given special attention and the largest volume. Specific elements should be separated by paragraphs. There will be no finished composition, but only ideas.
Our vast Motherland is famous for its extraordinary nature. Here everything is created for the life of Russians. The forest at any time of the year affectionately welcomes guests, bestows peace and quiet. In autumn, he shows his wonderful beauty.
Approximately such a beginning of the composition can make it possible to plunge into thoughts in the autumn forest. When a person writes such an essay, it may seem to him that he was just there. And the mention of the Motherland, mother Russia, can develop patriotism, which is so important for every citizen.
Pushkin, Yesenin, Lermontov, Fet and other classics in their poetry and prose talk about autumn from the heart, with love. People of that time loved nature very much, appreciated it, so they lived better.
Colors of nature
What bliss in the soul when you are in the autumn forest! It's so quiet and beautiful here. Leaves rustle underfoot. Near the birch, a porcini mushroom hides under a maple leaf. Large orange maple leaves are intertwined with small yellow birch leaves. How pleasant it is to stand under such beautiful trees, breathe clean air and listen to the sound of the breeze.
When you raise your head, you see above you a clear sky (or clouds) and bright, bright foliage. The eye rejoices, real freedom from the bustle of the city is felt. Not a single bright advertisement can replace the beauty of the forest, especially in autumn.
Sitting at a school desk, it is easy to plunge into thoughts about wildlife when the theme sounds: "Description of the autumn forest." For a student, this should not be fatigue, on the contrary. Let the children imagine that they are transported from the classroom to nature. Indeed, during the creative process, it seems that you have just seen exactly what you are writing about. It's good for kids to take a break.
Autumn forest morning
Not every city dweller imagines a morning in an autumn forest. What is it? Unusual! It even changes with the sunrise. During a trip to the village, to the cottage or to the camp site, it will be an ideal solution if the family gets up early to spend the morning in the autumn forest. Describing such a wonderful moment will bring only joy.
A fabulous view opens before us: the sun illuminates the forest with its yellow rays. The trees seem to wake up and greet all around. The eye rejoices at the sight of such beauty. Despite the fact that it is quite cool, the fog envelops, still being here is such a gift! A good mood for the whole day is provided, thanks to the healing air in the morning.
Animals and birds in autumn
What other description of the autumn forest can you come up with so that you can re-read it with pleasure? Of course, we must also remember about the inhabitants. Wild animals are now more difficult to meet, but possible. You just need to watch and listen. Any rustle or knock can indicate that somewhere nearby is a cute animal.
The beautiful squirrel collects acorns and drags them into the hollow. How quickly she does everything, as if she is afraid that she will not have time. Probably, she will warm herself in her house in winter, admire the snow and eat supplies. How much food had she already collected, and what kind?
Undoubtedly, the theme "Autumn Forest" is a real relaxation during the lesson. Whether writing or just acquaintance from pictures, it does not matter. Children need to be told with love and interest about the usefulness of being in the forest. It is also important to teach them to love nature and not harm it.
It's nice to be in the forest in autumn. Nice and quiet! But among the silence that seems at first glance, you can clearly distinguish the polyphony of sounds.
Nearby, an old oak creaks with branches. And this is a hedgehog running and sniffing funny with his nose - looking for what to stock up for the winter. High in the sky wild ducks call to each other. They're flying south because it's getting cold here. Only sparrows are in no hurry, so they fly around and chirp happily.
Forest sounds evoke such calm that you want to listen and listen to them. Good autumn in the forest.
Essay on literature on the topic: Good in the autumn in the forest
Other writings:
- Winter is a wonderful time of the year. And especially good in the winter in the forest. It seems to us that peace and silence reign in the winter forest, but this is only at first glance. When the sun rises, the whole forest is transformed and glitters. Many forest dwellers lay down in Read More ......
- I love autumn for its unique subtle smell of ozone, wet asphalt and sweet death. And the air becomes both material and at the same time surprisingly transparent, crystal clear. And this poetic sadness of inevitable dying, as if you see another - frozen Read More ......
- There are many wonderful places on earth. But it seems to me that you will not find better than our Siberian nature anywhere. There is nowhere more beautiful than our forest, especially in autumn! Don't believe? Let's take a walk through the autumn forest together and observe. See what a variety and Read More ......
- Once my friends and I decided to go to the forest. It was autumn, in September. We waited until Sunday, took a compass so as not to get lost, and went. Grandma made us sandwiches so we wouldn't get hungry. We were six guys from our yard and Read More ......
- Ivan Ivanovich Shishkin is a famous Russian landscape painter. A feature of his work is the desire to realistically depict the corners of his native Russian land that he saw. The artist simply could not imagine himself without Russia. On his canvases, nature seems to come to life: you can hear the singing of birds in the forest during Read More ......
- It is still very warm, but already sad from the smell of the past summer, multi-layered, spicy-sour. The trees shed their summer-scorched leaves. It seems that the trunks are getting dark, they are tired and want to sleep. Restless small spiders weave webs at incredible speed, and you, without seeing, pluck Read More ......
- There are many beautiful seasons, but I love autumn the most. I love the way the leaves fall. They look like gold to me. Even Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin called autumn golden. I love when the leaves fall off, they look like golden showers. This fall we Read More ......
- Maples dressed in scarlet. They stand, thinking, on the edge, as if they are sad that October has come. Sometimes they quietly drop their carved leaves. A sudden gust of wind mercilessly rips the autumn beauty off the sad maples. How tender golden birches look among green pines. Read More ......
Interesting :
***
Noisy leaves, flying around,
The forest started the autumn howl ...
Some gray birds flock
Spinning in the wind with foliage.
And I was small - a careless joke
Their confusion seemed to me:
Under the rumble and rustle of a terrible dance
I had doubly fun.
I wanted along with a noisy whirlwind
Circling through the forest, screaming -
And meet each copper sheet
Delight joyfully-crazy!
The forest is beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Slowly spinning in the air, light, weightless yellow leaves fall and fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of light cobwebs stretched from tree to tree. The late fall flowers are still blooming. Clear and clean air. Clear water in forest ditches and streams. Every pebble at the bottom is visible. Quiet, only the fallen leaves rustle underfoot. Sometimes a hazel grouse will whistle thinly. And that makes the silence even louder.
I. Sokolov-Mikitov
***
The forest drops its crimson dress,
The withered field is silvered by frost,
The day will pass as if involuntarily
And hide behind the edge of the surrounding mountains.
Blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell;
And you, wine, friend of the autumn cold,
Pour a pleasant hangover into my chest,
Minute oblivion of bitter torments.
wind in the forest
What happened to the maples?
They nodded their crowns.
And the tall oaks
It's like they're up on their hind legs.
And the hazel is not his own -
Rustles with dense foliage.
And barely audible
Ash whispers:
- I don't agree...
Disagree...
***
Autumn leaves are circling in the wind
Autumn leaves cry out in alarm:
"Everything perishes, everything perishes! You are black and naked,
O dear forest, your end has come!"
The royal forest does not hear the alarm.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
He was swaddled by mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring ripens in it.
Poems about the forest in autumn
***
Autumn. Thickets of the forest.
Moss of dry swamps.
The lake is white.
Pale sky.
The water lilies have bloomed
And the saffron blossomed.
paved paths,
The forest is empty and naked.
Only you are beautiful
Though dry for a long time
In the bumps by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
In the water half asleep -
And get silver
First of all, spring.
***
Covered in a thing of drowsiness,
The half-dressed forest is sad...
Is it the hundredth of summer leaves,
Shining with autumn gilding,
Still rustling on branches.
I look with tenderness,
When, breaking through the clouds,
Suddenly through the trees dotted
With their decrepit leaves exhausted,
A lightning beam will splatter!
How fading cute!
What a beauty in it for us,
When that so blossomed and lived,
Now, so feeble and feeble,
Smile for the last time!
Landscape
I love the forest path
Not knowing where, wander;
double deep gauge
You go - and there is no end of the road ...
Green forest is all around;
Autumn maples are already blushing,
And the spruce forest is green and shady; -
Aspen yellow sounds the alarm;
A leaf fell off a birch
And, like a carpet, covered the road ...
You walk as if on the waters -
The leg makes noise ... but the ear listens
The slightest rustle in the thicket, there,
Where the lush fern slumbers,
And a row of red fly agarics,
That the dwarfs are fabulous, they are sleeping ...
***
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Cheerful, colorful wall
It stands over a bright meadow.
Birches with yellow carving
Shine in blue azure,
Like towers, Christmas trees darken,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Clearances in the sky, that windows.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
During the summer it dried up from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
He enters his motley tower.
Today in an empty field
In the middle of a wide courtyard
Air web fabric
Shine like a net of silver.
Playing all day today
The last moth in the yard
And like a white petal
Freezes on the web
warmed by the warmth of the sun;
Today it's so bright all around
Such dead silence
In the forest and in the blue sky
What is possible in this silence
Hear the rustle of leaves.
Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
Standing above the sunny meadow,
Enchanted by silence;
The thrush quacks, flying
Among the podsed, where thick
Foliage an amber reflection pours;
Playing in the sky will flash
Scattered flock of starlings -
And everything will freeze again.
Last moments of happiness!
Autumn already knows what it is
Deep and mute peace -
A harbinger of a long storm.
Deep, strange forest was silent
And at dawn, when from sunset
Purple glitter of fire and gold
The tower illuminated with fire.
Then it darkened gloomily.
The moon is rising and in the forest
Shadows fall on the dew...
It's cold and white
Among the glades, among the through
Dead autumn thicket,
And terribly Autumn alone
In the desert silence of the night.
Now the silence is different:
Listen - it grows
And with her, frightening with pallor,
And the moon slowly rises.
He made all the shadows shorter
Transparent smoke brought to the forest
And now he looks straight into the eyes
From the misty heights of heaven.
O dead dream of the autumn night!
Oh terrible hour of night miracles!
In the silvery and damp fog
Light and empty in the clearing;
Forest filled with white light
With its frozen beauty
As if death is prophesying for itself;
Owl, and she is silent: she sits,
Yes, it looks stupidly from the branches,
Autumn
Covers a golden leaf
Wet ground in the forest...
I boldly trample with my foot
Spring forest beauty.
Cheeks burn with cold;
I like to run in the forest,
Hear the branches crack
Rake the leaves with your feet!
I have no former pleasures here!
The forest has taken a secret from itself:
The last nut is plucked
Tied the last flower;
Moss is not raised, not blown up
A pile of curly mushrooms;
Doesn't hang around the stump
Purple lingonberry brushes;
Long on the leaves, lies
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks cold somehow
Clear skies...
Leaves rustle under foot;
Death spreads its harvest...
Only I have a cheerful soul
And like crazy, I sing!
***
He showered the forest on his peaks,
The garden bared its brow
September died, and dahlias
The breath of the night burned.
***
Like a sad look, I love autumn.
On a foggy, quiet day I walk
I often go to the forest and sit there -
I look at the white sky
Yes, to the tops of dark pines.
I love, biting a sour leaf,
With a lazy smile,
Dream to do whimsical
Yes, listen to woodpeckers thin whistle.
The grass withered all ... cold,
A calm brilliance is poured over her ...
And sadness is quiet and free
I surrender with all my heart...
What can't I remember? What kind
My dreams won't visit me?
And the pines bend as if alive,
And they make such a thoughtful noise...
And like a flock of huge birds,
Suddenly the wind will blow
And in the boughs tangled and dark
He hums impatiently.
author: I. Turgenev 
***
A green forest is going by a cliff,
Autumn maples are already blushing,
And the spruce forest is green and shady;
Aspen yellow sounds the alarm;
A leaf fell off a birch
And as a carpet strewn the road -
You walk - as if on the waters -
The leg makes noise ... And the ear listens
Softened speech in the thicket, there,
Where the lush fern slumbers
And a row of red fly agaric
Like fabulous dwarfs, they sleep;
And here is the gap: through the leaves they shine,
Sparkling gold, jets ...
You hear the saying: the waters are splashing,
Rocking sleepy boats;
And the mill wheezes and groans
To the sound of frenzied wheels.
Won-won hides a heavy cart:
They carry grain. Klyachonka drives
Peasant, carrying a child,
And the granddaughter amuses the grandfather with fear,
And, lowering the fluffy tail,
A bug bustles around barking,
And loudly in the dusk of the forest
Cheerful barking flies around.
***
Autumn. Fairy tale,
All open for review.
clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes
Like in an art exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Autumn in the forest
Taking off the rifle from the nail, I leave the house,
I walk between the winter, blackening road;
I look at a bunch of stacks, at a broken fence,
To the pond and the mill, to the wild slope,
On the bank of the brook swampy-sloping,
And I enter the nearby forest. There is a reddened maple,
Still green oak and yellow birches
Sadly, my tears are shaking off;
But far away I go, immersed in dreams,
And half-naked branches hang over me,
And thoughts meanwhile are composed in consonance,
Free words are crowded into a dimensional system,
And the soul is light, and sweet, and strange,
And everything is quiet all around, and under my foot
So softly wet leaf rustles fragrant.
***
October is coming.
But the forest day is bright.
And autumn smiles
blue skies,
Silent lakes,
That lay their blue,
And pink dawns
In the birch region!
Here is moss gray lace
On an old boulder
And the yellow leaf is spinning
The other one is already on the stump!..
And side by side, under the vines,
Under their dense canopy,
The boletus climbed -
And a sideways hat.
But everything in the forest is sadder:
Couldn't find a flower
How the pendulum swings
Aspen leaf.
Tree shadows are long...
And colder rays.
And cranes in the sky
Bubbling streams!
Forest in autumn
Between thinning tops
Blue appeared.
Noisy at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
Birds are not heard. Crack small
broken knot,
And, with a flickering tail, a squirrel
Light makes a jump.
The spruce in the forest became more noticeable -
Protects deep shade.
Boletus last
He pushed his hat to one side.
***
Autumn peeked into the dark dense forest.
How many fresh cones green pines have.
How many scarlet berries the forest mountain ash has!
Waves grew right on the path.
And among lingonberries, on a green hummock,
A mushroom-mushroom in a red scarf came out.
The wind blew in the forest clearing,
He twirled an aspen in a red sundress.
And a leaf of birch with a golden bee
Curls and flies over a thorny Christmas tree.
And under the Christmas tree milk mushrooms paved the bridge ...
Goodbye, tree! Come visit us!
***
Autumn forest every year
Pays gold to enter.
Look at the aspen -
All dressed in gold
And she babbles:
"Stenu…" -
And shivering from the cold.
And the birch is happy
Yellow outfit:
"Well, the dress!
What a delight!"
Leaves quickly scattered
The frost came suddenly.
And the birch whispers:
"I'm chilling!..."
Lost weight at the oak
Gilded coat.
The oak caught on, but it's too late
And he roars:
"I'm freezing! I'm freezing!"
Deceived gold -
Didn't save me from the cold.
***
We can not live in the world without miracles,
They meet us everywhere.
Magic, autumn and fairy forest
He invites us to visit.
The wind will spin to the song of the rain,
Throw leaves at our feet.
Such a beautiful time
Miracle Autumn came to us again.
***
One day a wizard was walking through the forest.
I just walked around like that, wandered ...
He revived the shriveled deadwood,
I dressed lindens in sundresses,
I put scarlet beads on mountain ash,
Glittered in the sun
And pure old gold
Painted acorns on oak trees.
Blue ripples disturbed the river,
Whispered secretly with the reeds,
Willow branches twisted into rings
And the rain went to the village.
This autumn son-prankster,
Average, quiet affectionate friend.
It is a pity that not a single happy holiday,
October does not give his flag.
September in the forest
The yellow leaf turns and curls,
Rain drips and pours
The rowan berries have blushed,
Hanging threads of the web.
The wind flies, whirls
And the birds sing softly
The sun's ray in the clouds melts,
The day is running out faster.
The forest is filled with mushrooms
Leaf, needles underfoot.
Dewdrops melt on the grass
Mushroom pickers are invited to the forest.
The squirrel is looking for a nut,
Her fur fluffed up.
Hedgehog walks, not in a hurry,
And on the back there is a mushroom.
The bunny jumps, winds,
He picks cabbage.
The mole prepares the bins,
He is not afraid of winter.
***
Gives autumn miracles
And what more!
The forests are dressed up
In golden hats.
On a stump they sit in a crowd
red mushrooms,
And the spider is a dodger! -
Pulls the network somewhere.
Rain and withered grass
Sleepy more often at night
incomprehensible words
They mumble until the morning.
autumn
In the crane sky
The wind carries clouds.
The willow whispers to the willow:
"Autumn. Autumn again!"
Leaves yellow downpour,
The sun is below the pines.
Willow whispers:
"Autumn. Autumn is coming soon!"
Frost on the shrub
White cry sketched.
The oak whispers to the mountain ash:
"Autumn. Autumn is coming soon!"
Fir trees whisper
In the middle of the forest:
"Soon will be swept
And he'll wind up soon!"
***
Gathered and flew
Ducks on a long journey.
Under the roots of an old spruce
The bear is making a lair.
The hare dressed in white fur,
The bunny got warm.
Wears a squirrel for a whole month
For reserve mushrooms in the hollow.
Wolves roam the dark night
For prey in the forests.
Between the bushes to the sleepy grouse
The fox is escaping.
Hides a nutcracker for the winter
In the old moss nuts cleverly.
Capercaillie pinch needles.
They came to us for the winter
Northerners-bullfinches.
Ivan Turgenev "Forest in autumn"
And how beautiful this same forest is in late autumn, when the woodcocks arrive! They do not stay in the wilderness itself: they must be sought along the edge. There is no wind, and there is no sun, no light, no shadow, no movement, no noise; in the soft air there is an autumn smell, like the smell of wine; a thin mist hangs in the distance over the yellow fields. Through the naked, brown boughs of the trees, the still sky peacefully whitens; in some places the last golden leaves hang on the linden trees. The damp earth is elastic underfoot; tall dry blades of grass do not move; long threads glitter on the pale grass. The chest breathes calmly, and a strange anxiety finds in the soul. You walk along the edge of the forest, you look at the dog, and meanwhile your favorite images, your favorite faces, dead and alive, come to mind, impressions that have long since fallen asleep suddenly wake up; the imagination flies and flies like a bird, and everything moves so clearly and stands before your eyes. The heart will suddenly tremble and beat, passionately rush forward, then irretrievably drown in memories. All life unfolds easily and quickly like a scroll; Man owns all his past, all his feelings, forces, all his soul. And nothing around him interferes - there is no sun, no wind, no noise ...
And an autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when the birch, like a fairy-tale tree, all golden, is beautifully drawn in the pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than summer, a small aspen grove all sparkles through, as if it is fun and easy for her to stand naked, the frost still turns white at the bottom of the valleys, and the fresh wind quietly stirs and drives the fallen warped leaves - when blue waves joyfully rush along the river, rhythmically raising scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-covered with willows, and, motley in the bright air, doves quickly circle over it ...
I. Sokolov-Mikitov
The chirping swallows flew south a long time ago, and even earlier, as if on cue, swift swifts disappeared.
In the autumn days, the guys heard how, saying goodbye to their dear homeland, flying cranes were cooing in the sky. With some special feeling, they looked after them for a long time, as if the cranes were taking the summer away with them.
Quietly talking, geese flew to the warm south ...
People are getting ready for the cold winter. Rye and wheat have long been cut down. Prepared feed for livestock. They pick the last apples in the orchards. They dug up potatoes, beets, carrots and harvest them for the winter.
The animals are getting ready for winter. The nimble squirrel accumulated nuts in a hollow, dried selected mushrooms. Little mice-voles dragged grains into their burrows, prepared fragrant soft hay.
In late autumn, a hardworking hedgehog builds its winter lair. He dragged a whole heap of dry leaves under the old stump. All winter will sleep peacefully under a warm blanket.
Less and less, the autumn sun warms more and more sparingly.
Soon, the first frosts will begin soon.
Mother Earth will freeze until spring. Everyone took everything from her that she could give.
Autumn
It's been a fun summer. Here comes autumn. It's time to harvest. Vanya and Fedya are digging potatoes. Vasya picks beets and carrots, and Fenya picks beans. There are many plums in the garden. Vera and Felix pick fruit and send it to the school cafeteria. There everyone is treated with ripe and tasty fruits.
In the woods
Grisha and Kolya went into the forest. They picked mushrooms and berries. They put mushrooms in a basket, and berries in a basket. Suddenly thunder boomed. The sun has disappeared. Clouds appeared all around. The wind bent the trees to the ground. There was a big rain. The boys went to the forester's house. Soon the forest became quiet. Rain stopped. The sun came out. Grisha and Kolya went home with mushrooms and berries.
Mushrooms
The guys went to the forest for mushrooms. Roma found a beautiful boletus under a birch. Valya saw a small butter dish under a pine tree. Serezha saw a huge boletus in the grass. In the grove they collected full baskets of various mushrooms. The children returned home happy and happy.
Forest in autumn
I. Sokolov-Mikitov
The Russian forest is beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Against the golden background of yellowed foliage, bright spots of red-yellow maples and aspens stand out. Slowly spinning in the air, light, weightless yellow leaves fall and fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of light cobwebs stretched from tree to tree. The late fall flowers are still in bloom.
Clear and clean air. Clear water in forest ditches and streams. Every pebble at the bottom is visible.
Quiet in the autumn forest. Fallen leaves rustle underfoot. Sometimes a hazel grouse will whistle thinly. And that makes the silence even louder.
Easy to breathe in the autumn forest. And I don't want to leave it for a long time. It's good in the autumn flowery forest... But something sad, farewell is heard and seen in it.
nature in autumn
The mysterious princess Autumn will take the tired nature into her hands, dress her in golden outfits and soak her with long rains. Autumn will calm the breathless earth, blow away the last leaves with the wind and lay in the cradle of a long winter sleep.
Autumn day in a birch grove
I was sitting in a birch grove in autumn, about half of September. From the very morning a fine rain fell, replaced at times by warm sunshine; the weather was erratic. The sky was now all clouded over with loose white clouds, then it suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then behind the parted clouds a azure appeared, clear and gentle ...
I sat and looked around and listened. The leaves rustled a little over my head; one could tell from their noise what season it was then. It was not the cheerful, laughing thrill of spring, not the soft whispering, not the long talk of summer, not the timid and cold babble of late autumn, but barely audible, drowsy chatter. A light wind blew a little over the tops. The inside of the grove, damp from the rain, was constantly changing, depending on whether the sun shone or was covered with clouds; at one time it lit up all over, as if all of a sudden everything was smiling in it ... then suddenly everything around it again turned slightly blue: the bright colors instantly went out ... and stealthily, slyly, the tiniest rain began to sow and whisper through the forest.
The foliage on the birch trees was still almost all green, although it had noticeably turned pale; only here and there stood one young woman, all red or all gold...
Not a single bird was heard: everyone took shelter and fell silent; only occasionally did the mocking voice of the tit tinkle like a steel bell.
An autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when a birch, like a fairy-tale tree, all golden, is beautifully drawn in a pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than summer, a small aspen grove sparkles through and through, as if it it is fun and easy to stand naked, the frost is still white at the bottom of the valleys, and the fresh wind quietly stirs and drives the fallen warped leaves - when blue waves joyfully rush along the river, quietly raising scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-covered with willows, and, motley in the bright air, doves quickly circle over it ...
By the beginning of September, the weather suddenly changed dramatically and quite unexpectedly. Quiet and cloudless days immediately set in, so clear, sunny and warm that there were none even in July. On the dry, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow bristles, autumn cobwebs shone with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.
Late fall
Korolenko Vladimir Galaktionovich
Late autumn is coming. The fruit is heavy; he breaks down and falls to the ground. He dies, but the seed lives in him, and in this seed the whole future plant lives in "possibility", with its future luxurious foliage and with its new fruit. The seed will fall to the ground; and the cold sun already rises low above the earth, a cold wind runs, cold clouds rush ... Not only passion, but life itself freezes quietly, imperceptibly ... The earth more and more emerges from under the green with its blackness, cold tones dominate in the sky ... And then the day comes when millions of snowflakes fall on this resigned and hushed, as if widowed earth, and it all becomes even, uniform and white ... White is the color of cold snow, the color of the highest clouds that float in unattainable cold heavenly heights - the color of majestic and barren mountain peaks ...
Antonov apples
Bunin Ivan Alekseevich
I remember the early fine autumn. August was with warm rains at the very time, in the middle of the month. I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning ... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinned garden, I remember maple alleys, the delicate aroma of fallen leaves and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it's like it doesn't exist at all. Everywhere smells strongly of apples.
By night it becomes very cold and dewy. Breathing in the rye aroma of new straw and chaff on the threshing floor, you cheerfully walk home to dinner past the garden rampart. The voices in the village or the creaking of the gates resound through the icy dawn with unusual clarity. It's getting dark. And here's another smell: in the garden - a fire and strongly pulls the fragrant smoke of cherry branches. In the dark, in the depths of the garden - a fabulous picture: just in a corner of hell, a crimson flame is burning near the hut, surrounded by darkness ...
"A vigorous Antonovka - for a merry year." Village affairs are good if Antonovka is born: it means that bread is born too ... I remember a harvest year.
At early dawn, when the roosters are still crowing, you used to open a window into a cool garden filled with a lilac fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly in some places ... You run to wash yourself on the pond. The small foliage has almost completely flown from the coastal vines, and the branches are visible in the turquoise sky. The water under the vines became clear, icy and as if heavy. She instantly drives away the night's laziness.
You will enter the house and first of all you will hear the smell of apples, and then others.
Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floor have been empty, the weather, as usual, has changed dramatically. The wind tore and ruffled the trees for whole days, the rains watered them from morning to night.
The liquid blue sky shone coldly and brightly in the north above heavy lead clouds, and behind these clouds the ridges of snowy mountains-clouds slowly floated up, the window in the blue sky closed, and the garden became deserted and dull, and it began to rain again ... at first quietly, cautiously, then more and more thickly, and finally turned into a downpour with a storm and darkness. It's been a long, unsettling night...
From such a beating, the garden came out completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow hushed, resigned. But on the other hand, how beautiful it was when the clear weather came again, the transparent and cold days of early October, the farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees until the first frost. The black garden will shine through in the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for winter, warming itself in the sunshine. And the fields are already sharply turning black with arable land and bright green with bushy winter crops ...
You wake up and lie in bed for a long time. The whole house is silent. Ahead - a whole day of rest in the already silent winter estate. You will slowly get dressed, wander around the garden, find in the wet foliage an accidentally forgotten cold and wet apple, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others.
Dictionary of native nature
It is impossible to list the signs of all seasons. Therefore, I skip summer and move on to autumn, to its first days, when “September” is already beginning.
The earth is fading, but the “Indian summer” is still ahead with its last bright, but already cold, like a shine of mica, the radiance of the sun. From the deep blue of skies washed with cool air. With a flying web (“yarn of the Mother of God,” as ardent old women still call it in some places) and a fallen, wilted leaf that falls asleep on empty waters. Birch groves stand like crowds of beautiful girls in short shawls embroidered with gold leaf. "A sad time - the charm of the eyes."
Then - bad weather, heavy rains, the icy north wind "siverko", plowing lead waters, coldness, coldness, pitch-black nights, icy dew, dark dawns.
So everything goes on until the first frost seizes, binds the earth, the first powder falls and the first path is established. And there is already winter with blizzards, blizzards, snowstorms, snowfall, gray frosts, landmarks in the fields, the creak of undercuts on the sledge, gray, snowy skies ...
Often in autumn I would closely watch the falling leaves to catch that imperceptible split second when the leaf separates from the branch and begins to fall to the ground, but I did not succeed for a long time. I have read in old books about the sound of falling leaves, but I have never heard that sound. If the leaves rustled, it was only on the ground, under the feet of a person. The rustle of leaves in the air seemed to me as unbelievable as stories about hearing the grass grow in spring.
I was, of course, wrong. Time was needed so that the ear, dulled by the rattle of the city streets, could rest and catch the very clear and precise sounds of the autumn earth.
Late one evening I went out into the garden to the well. I put a dim "bat" kerosene lantern on the log house and got some water. Leaves were floating in the bucket. They were everywhere. There was nowhere to get rid of them. Black bread from the bakery was brought with wet leaves stuck to it. The wind threw handfuls of leaves on the table, on the bunk, on the floor. on books, and it was difficult to groom along the paths of fat: you had to walk on the leaves, as if on deep snow. We found leaves in the pockets of our raincoats, in caps, in our hair - everywhere. We slept on them and soaked in their scent.
There are autumn nights, deafened and mute, when calmness hangs over the black wooded edge and only the watchman's beater comes from the village outskirts.
It was such a night. The lantern illuminated the well, the old maple under the fence, and the wind-torn nasturtium bush in the yellowed flower bed.
I looked at the maple tree and saw how a red leaf carefully and slowly separated from the branch, shuddered, stopped for a moment in the air and began to fall obliquely at my feet, slightly rustling and swaying. For the first time I heard the rustle of a falling leaf - an indistinct sound, like a child's whisper.
My house
Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich
It is especially good in the gazebo on quiet autumn nights, when a leisurely sheer rain rustles in an undertone in the salou.
Cool air barely shakes the tongue of the candle. Corner shadows from grape leaves lie on the ceiling of the gazebo. A night butterfly, resembling a lump of gray raw silk, sits on an open book and leaves the finest shiny dust on the page. It smells of rain - a gentle and at the same time pungent smell of moisture, damp garden paths.
At dawn I wake up. Fog rustles in the garden. Leaves fall in the mist. I pull a bucket of water from the well. A frog jumps out of the bucket. I douse myself with well water and listen to the shepherd's horn - he still sings far away, at the very outskirts.
It's getting light. I take the oars and go to the river. I'm sailing in the fog. The East is rosy. The smell of the smoke of rural stoves is no longer heard. There remains only the silence of the water, thickets of centuries-old willows.
Ahead is a deserted September day. Ahead - lostness in this vast world of fragrant foliage, herbs, autumn wilt, calm waters, clouds, low sky. And I always feel this loss as happiness.
What are the rains
Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich
(Excerpt from the story "Golden Rose")
The sun sets in clouds, smoke falls to the ground, swallows fly low, roosters crow in the yards without time, clouds stretch across the sky in long misty strands - all these are signs of rain. And shortly before the rain, although the clouds have not yet pulled, a gentle breath of moisture is heard. It must be brought from where the rains have already fallen.
But the first drops are starting to drip. The popular word "dripping" well conveys the occurrence of rain, when even rare drops leave dark specks on dusty paths and roofs.
Then the rain disperses. It is then that the wonderful cool smell of the earth, first moistened by the dogge, arises. It doesn't last long. It is replaced by the smell of wet grass, especially nettle.
It is characteristic that, no matter what kind of rain it will be, as soon as it starts, it is always called very affectionately - rain. “The rain has gathered”, “the rain has let go”, “the rain washes the grass” ...
How, for example, is the difference between spore rain and mushroom rain?
The word "disputed" means - fast, fast. Spore rain pours steeply, strongly. He always approaches with an oncoming noise.
Particularly good is the spore rain on the river. Each drop of it knocks out a round depression in the water, a small water bowl, jumps, falls again and for a few moments before disappearing, is still visible at the bottom of this water bowl. The drop glistens and looks like a pearl.
At the same time, there is a glass ringing all over the river. By the height of this ringing, you can guess whether the rain is gaining strength or subsiding.
A small mushroom rain sleepily pours from low clouds. The puddles from this rain are always warm. He does not ring, but whispers something of his own, soporific, and is slightly noticeably fiddling in the bushes, as if touching one leaf or another with a soft paw.
Forest humus and moss absorb this rain slowly, thoroughly. Therefore, after it, mushrooms begin to climb violently - sticky butterflies, yellow chanterelles, mushrooms, ruddy mushrooms, honey agarics and countless grebes.
During mushroom rains, the air smells of smoke and the cunning and cautious fish - roach - takes well.
People say about the blind rain falling in the sun: "The princess is crying." The sparkling sun drops of this rain look like large tears. And who should cry with such shining tears of grief or joy, if not the fabulous beauty of the princess!
You can follow the play of light during the rain for a long time, the variety of sounds - from the measured knock on the boarded roof and the liquid ringing in the drainpipe to the continuous, intense rumble when the rain pours, as they say, like a wall.
All this is only a tiny part of what can be said about the rain ...