Stories about spring by Chekhov, Prishvin, Ushinsky

Anton Chekhov "Spring"

The snow has not yet fallen from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul.

The ground is cold, the dirt and snow squelches underfoot, but how merry, affectionate, and affable everything is around!

The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb the dovecote, you seem to see the entire universe from end to end. The sun shines brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in puddles along with sparrows.

The river swells and darkens; she has already woken up and will roar not today tomorrow. The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe.

At such a time, it is good to drive dirty water in ditches with a broom or shovel, to launch boats on the water or to hammer stubborn ice with your heels.

It is also good to drive pigeons under the very heights of heaven or climb trees and tie birdhouses there. Yes, everything is fine in this happy time of the year, especially if you love nature...

Mikhail Prishvin "Forest Doctor"

We wandered in the spring in the forest and observed the life of hollow birds: woodpeckers, owls. Suddenly in the direction where we had previously planned interesting tree we heard the sound of a saw. It was, we were told, cutting firewood from deadwood for a glass factory. We were afraid for our tree, hurried to the sound of the saw, but it was too late: our aspen was lying, and around its stump there were many empty fir cones. The woodpecker peeled all this over the long winter, collected it, wore it on this aspen, laid it between two bitches of his workshop and hollowed it out. Near the stump, on our cut aspen, two boys were resting. These two boys were only engaged in sawing the forest.

- Oh, you pranksters! - we said and pointed them to the cut aspen. - You were ordered to cut dead trees, and what did you do?

“The woodpecker made holes,” the guys answered. - We looked and, of course, sawed off. It will still disappear.

They all began to examine the tree together. It was quite fresh, and only in a small space, no more than a meter in length, did a worm pass through the trunk. The woodpecker, obviously, listened to the aspen like a doctor: he tapped it with his beak, understood the void left by the worm, and proceeded with the operation of extracting the worm. And the second time, and the third, and the fourth... The thin aspen trunk looked like a flute with valves. Seven holes were made by the "surgeon" and only on the eighth he captured the worm, pulled out and saved the aspen. We carved this piece as a wonderful exhibit for the museum.

“You see,” we said to the guys, “the woodpecker is a forest doctor, he saved the aspen, and it would live and live, and you cut it off.

The boys marveled.

Mikhail Prishvin "Hot Hour"

It is melting in the fields, but in the forest there is still snow untouched by dense pillows on the ground and on the branches of trees, and the trees are in snow captivity. Thin trunks crouched to the ground, froze and are waiting any hour for release. At last this hot hour comes, the happiest for the motionless trees and the most terrible for animals and birds.

The hot hour has come, the snow is imperceptibly melting, and now in the complete silence of the forest, as if by itself, a spruce branch moves and sways. And just under this tree, covered with its wide branches, a hare is sleeping. In fear, he gets up and listens: the twig cannot move by itself. The hare was scared, and then before his eyes another, third branch moved and, freed from snow, jumped. The hare darted, ran, again sat down in a column and listened: where did the trouble come from, where should he run?

And as soon as he stood on his hind legs, he just looked around, how he jumped up in front of his very nose, how he straightened up, how a whole birch swayed, how a tree branch waved nearby!

And it went, and it went: branches jump everywhere, escaping from snow captivity, the whole forest moves around, the whole forest has gone. And the mad hare rushes about, and every beast gets up, and the bird flies out of the forest.

Mikhail Prishvin "Trees in captivity"

Spring shone in the sky, but the forest is still in winter was covered in snow. Have you been in a snowy winter in a young forest? Of course, they were not: it is impossible to enter there.

Where in the summer you walked along a wide path, now across this path in both directions lie bent trees, and so low that only a hare can run under them.

This is what happened to the trees: the birch with its top, like a palm, took away the falling snow, and so one would walk along such a path without bending one's back. In the thaw, snow fell again and stuck to that whom. The peak with that huge lump kept bending and finally sank into the snow and froze like that until the very spring. Animals and people occasionally skied under this arch all winter.

But I know one simple magic tool to walk along such a path without bending your back yourself.

I break out a good weighty stick for myself, and as soon as I hit the leaning tree with this stick, the snow falls down, the tree jumps up and gives way to me. Slowly so I go and release many trees with a magical blow.

Mikhail Prishvin "The conversation of trees"

The buds open, chocolate-colored, with green tails, and a large transparent drop hangs on each green beak. You take one kidney, rub it between your fingers, and then for a long time everything smells like the fragrant resin of birch, poplar or bird cherry.

You sniff a bird cherry bud and immediately remember how you used to climb up a tree for berries, shiny, black-lacquered. I ate them in handfuls right with the bones, but nothing but good came from this.

The evening is warm, and such silence, as if something should happen in such silence. And now the trees begin to whisper among themselves: a white birch with another white birch from afar echoes; a young aspen came out into the clearing like a green candle, and calls to itself the same green aspen candle, waving a twig; bird cherry gives the bird cherry a branch with open buds. If you compare with us, we echo with sounds, and they have a fragrance.

Mikhail Prishvin "Walnut Haze"

The barometer falls, but instead of the beneficent warm rain comes a cold wind. And yet spring continues to advance.

Today, the lawns turned green, first along the edges of the streams, then along the southern slopes of the banks, near the road, and by evening it turned green everywhere on earth. Beautiful were the wavy lines of plowing in the fields - growing black with absorbed greenery.

The buds on bird cherry today have turned into green spears.

The hazel catkins began to gather dust, and under each bird fluttering in the hazel tree smoke rose.

Mikhail Prishvin "Woodcock"

Spring is moving, but slowly. In the lake, which has not yet completely melted, the frogs lean out and purr. The walnut blossoms, but its catkins are not yet dusted with yellow pollen. A bird will catch a twig on the fly, and yellow smoke will not fly from the twig.

The last patches of snow in the forest are disappearing. Foliage from under the snow comes out densely packed, gray.

Not far from me, I saw a bird of the same color as this last year's foliage, with large black expressive eyes and a long nose, no less than half a pencil.

We sat motionless; when the woodcock was convinced that we were lifeless, he got to his feet, waved his pencil and struck it at the hot, rotten foliage.

It was impossible to see what he got there from under the foliage, but only we noticed that from this blow to the ground through the foliage, one round aspen leaf was left on his nose.

Then more and more added. Then we scared him off; he flew along the edge of the forest, very close to us, and we managed to count: on his beak he was wearing seven old aspen leaves.

Konstantin Ushinsky "Morning Rays"

A red sun floated up into the sky and began to send its golden rays everywhere - to wake up the earth.

The first beam flew and hit the lark.

The lark started, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang his silver song: “Oh, how good it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”

The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get himself juicy grass for breakfast.

The third beam hit the chicken coop.

The rooster flapped its wings and sang: "Ku-ka-re-ku!" The chickens flew off our nests, clucked, began to rake up rubbish and look for worms.

The fourth beam hit the hive.

A bee crawled out of the wax cell, sat down on the window, spread its wings and “zoom-zoom-zoom!” - flew to collect honey from fragrant flowers.

The fifth ray fell into the nursery on the bed to the little lazy man: it cuts him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.

A selection of children's books about spring.

"Spring is red, what did you come on?" Encyclopedia of children's folklore

Publisher: White City
Series: My first book

Each season has its own beauty, its own characteristics. Winter gives us lush snow, clear ice, invigorating frosts. Spring pleases with ringing drops, bright sun. Mushroom, berry, warm summer hurries to replace spring. And then a generous autumn will give and feed everyone. Since ancient times, the change of seasons has been celebrated by the people with special holidays and rituals. Seeing off winter (Maslenitsa), a meeting of spring were arranged; summer holiday - birch curling (Semik); autumn harvest festival (dozhinki) and others.

Calendar songs, fairy tales and tunes to them, included in the book, were collected by musicologist-folklorist, member of the Union of Composers of Russia Georgy Markovich Naumenko for thirty years in folklore expeditions in Ivanovo, Kostroma, Vologda, Arkhangelsk, Smolensk, Kursk, Bryansk, Ryazan and other regions . The book has a great artistic, historical, educational value. It is of interest to a wide range of readers and can be used as one of the teaching aids to the courses "Introduction to Ethnology" and "The World of Folk Culture", designed for elementary and high school, as well as the "Heritage" program for working with children of preschool age.
Collected and processed by Georgy Markovich Naumenko.

V. Bianchi "Santa Claus and Spring"

Artist: A. Aseev
Publisher: ENAS-KNIGA
Series: New old books

The book contains two fairy tales by Vitaly Bianchi (1894-1959) about how forest animals live in the snowy winter season under the rule of Santa Claus and how they rejoice at the arrival of the warm beauty of Spring. The heroes of fairy tales, the inhabitants of the forest seem to come to life on the pages of the book in the illustrations of Andrey Aseev.

I. Sokolov-Mikitov "Spring in the forest"

Artist: G. Nikolsky
Publisher: Speech
Series: Mom's favorite book

Joyful and noisy in the spring forest. Frisky streams ring under the trees, cranes chirp in the swamp, capercaillie sing on the lek, singing thrushes are flooded on the trees ... Writer I. Sokolov-Mikitov and artist G. Nikolsky told readers about the spring chores of forest animals and birds.

R. S. Berner "Spring Book"

Publisher: Samokat
Series: Town

I really like this book with good illustrations, a lot of small details, you can look at and talk with a child about the book endlessly. It is very interesting to come up with different stories about the characters in the book.

"spring book"acquaints novice readers with all the inhabitants of the Town - people and animals. These books will tell many interesting stories that happened on the streets of the Borough one spring. Susanne Berner's Rotrout picture books have become bestsellers in many countries around the world from Japan to the Faroe Islands. And there is no doubt that the kind, sympathetic and inquisitive characters of these original books will be loved in Russia too.

There is also a coloring book based on the book.

I. Gunilla "Spring Bear Bruno"

Artist: I. Gunilla
Publisher: Melik-Pashaev

Bear Bruno and his dog Lolla are the heroes of 4 picture books created by contemporary Swedish artist Gunilla Ingves. Each book is dedicated to one of the seasons - winter, spring, summer and autumn - and it describes one day in the life of the characters, filled with activities and entertainment "in season".
In the book "Spring of Bruno Bears" a bear and a dog go for a walk in the morning to see what has changed in nature with the onset of spring. They watch how birds build nests and hatch chicks, how young grass breaks through last year's foliage, how insects wake up. They learn to distinguish by the voices of songbirds - a lark, a woodpecker, an owl, plant seedlings and do spring cleaning in the house. The day turns out to be very eventful and covers all the main spring omens, worries and daily activities. Everything that Bruno and Lolla see and do, we can see and do every spring - in the country, in the park, during a country walk.
main story The books "frame" notes from the diary of Mishka Bruno's observations, which are placed at the beginning and at the end of the book. They contain many sketches and informative information from the world. surrounding nature certain time of the year. The first spread of the diary is devoted to birds: what they look like and how they sing, what nests are made of and how chicks are bred. The second one tells in detail about how to plant seedlings, how a seed sprouts in the ground, how the first snowdrops look like.
Books from the series about Bruno's bears can be called a practical encyclopedia of the seasons for children 3-6 years old. With delicate illustrations in pastel colors, lots of details to look at on every page, and charming main characters.

"Song of the brook" ed. Ranok

The book as a whole is good, beautiful delicate watercolor drawings, poems and stories of Russian classics about spring, although 3 works do not fit into the theme of "Spring" at all, which slightly spoils the impression of this book.

"Spring was walking along the edge" V. Stepanov

Nice drawings, good poems, small, convenient book format.

"Spring. From 5 years old on the topic" Spring "published by Karapuz

I really like the illustrations in this book. The manual contains various tasks for children on the topic.

Today I bring to your attention wonderful literary works about spring and about spring for the children of our Russian poets and writers. Read them with the guys, work with the texts. The magic of spring is felt in every line. 🙂

F.I. Tyutchev

Winter is getting angry
Her time has passed
Spring is knocking on the window
And drives from the yard.

And everything got busy
Everything forces the winter out -
And larks in the sky
The alarm has already been raised.

Winter is still busy
And growls for the spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it only makes more noise...

Wicked witch pissed off
And, capturing the snow,
Let go, run away
To a beautiful child...

Spring and grief is not enough:
Washed in the snow
And only became blush,
Against the enemy.

Sinichkin calendar V.V. bianchi

March

Zinka flew into the field. After all, a titmouse can live wherever you want: if only there were bushes, and she will feed herself.
In the field, in the bushes, gray partridges lived - such beautiful field hens with a chocolate horseshoe on their chests.
A whole flock of them lived here, digging grains from under the snow.
- And where do you sleep? Zinka asked them.
“And you do as we do,” the partridges say. - Here, look.
They all rose on their wings, scattered as fast as they could - yes, boom from flying into the snow! Loose snow - sprinkled and covered them. And no one will see them from above, and they are warm there, on the ground, under the snow.
“Well, no,” Zinka thinks, “titmouse don’t know how. I'll find a better place to sleep."
I found a wicker basket thrown by someone in the bushes, climbed into it, and fell asleep there. And it's good that she did. The day was sunny. The snow at the top melted, became loose. And at night the frost hit.
Zinka woke up in the morning, waiting - where are the partridges? They are nowhere to be seen. And where they dived into the snow in the evening, the crust glistens - an ice crust.
Zinka understood what trouble the partridges got into: now they are sitting, as if in prison, under an icy roof and cannot get out. Everyone will disappear there under it! What to do here?
Why, titmouse are a fighting people. Zinka flew to the crust - and let's peck him with her strong, sharp nose. And she continued, - she made a big hole. And released partridges from prison.
So they praised her, thanked her! They dragged her grains, various seeds:
- Live with us, don't fly anywhere!
She lived. And the sun is brighter day by day, hotter day by day. Melting, melting snow in the field. And there is so little of it left that partridges can no longer spend the night in it: the chalk has become. Partridges moved to the bushes to sleep, under Zinka's basket.
And then, finally, in the field on the hillocks, land appeared. And how happy everyone was!
Three days have not passed here - out of nowhere, black rooks with white noses are already sitting on the thawed patches.
Hello! You are welcome! Important ones walk around, gleam with a tight feather, pick the earth with their noses: worms and larvae are dragged from it.
And soon after them both larks and starlings flew in, filled with songs.
Zinka rings with joy, chokes:
- Zing-zing-na! Zin-zin-na! Spring is upon us! Spring is upon us! Spring is upon us!
So with this song I flew to the Old Sparrow. And he said to her:
- Yes. This is the month of March. The rooks have arrived, which means that spring has really begun. Spring starts in the field. Now fly to the river.

April

Zinka flew to the river.
He flies over the field, he flies over the meadow, he hears: everywhere the streams sing. Streams are singing, streams are running, - everyone is going to the river.
She flew to the river, and the river is terrible: the ice turned blue on it, water protrudes near the banks. Zinka sees: every day, more streams run to the river.
A stream will make its way along the ravine imperceptibly under the snow and from the shore - jump into the river! And soon a lot of streams, streams and streams crowded into the river - they hid under the ice.
Then a thin black-and-white bird flew in, runs along the shore, shakes its long tail, squeaks:
- Pi-lik! Pi-lik!
- What are you squeaking! - asks Zinka. - Why are you waving your tail?
- Pi-lik! - answers a thin bird. - Don't you know my name? Icebreaker. Now I’ll swing my tail, and as soon as I crack it on the ice, the ice will burst, and the river will flow.
- Well, yes! - Zinka did not believe. - Boasting.
- Ah well! says the little bird. - Pi-lik!
And let's swing the ponytail even more.
Then suddenly it thumps somewhere up the river, as if from a cannon! The icebreaker fluttered - and with a fright, it waved its wings so that in one minute it disappeared from sight.
And Zinka sees: the ice cracked like glass. These are streams - all that ran into the river - as they strained, pressed from below - the ice burst. It burst and broke up into ice floes, large and small.
The river has gone. She went and went, and no one could stop her. Ice floes rocked on it, swam, ran, circled each other, and those on the side were pushed ashore.
At that moment, every water bird swooped in, as if somewhere nearby, around the corner, were waiting: ducks, gulls, sandpipers. And, lo and behold, the Icebreaker returned, mincing along the shore with its little legs, shaking its tail.
Everyone is squealing, shouting, having fun. Who catches a fish, dives into the water after it, who pokes his nose into the mud, looking for something there, who catches flies over the shore.
- Zin-zin-ho! Zin-zin-ho! Ice drift, ice drift! - Zinka sang. And she flew off to tell Old Sparrow what she had seen on the river. And the old Sparrow said to her: - You see: first spring comes to the field, and then to the river. Remember: the month in which our rivers are freed from ice is called April. And now fly back into the forest: you will see what will happen there.
And Zinka quickly flew into the forest.

The forest was still full of snow. He hid under bushes and trees, and it was difficult for the sun to reach him there. The rye sown since autumn had long since turned green in the field, but the forest was still bare.
But it was already fun in it, not like in winter. Many different birds flew in, and they all fluttered between the trees, jumped on the ground and sang - they sang on the branches, on the tops of the trees and in the air.
The sun now rose very early, went to bed late, and shone so diligently on everyone on earth and warmed them so much that it became easy to live. Titmouse no longer had to take care of the lodging for the night: if he finds a free hollow - well, he doesn’t find it - and so he will spend the night somewhere on a branch or in a thicket.
And once in the evening it seemed to her that the forest was in fog. A light greenish fog enveloped all the birches, aspens, and alders. And when the next day the sun rose over the forest, on every birch, on every branch, little green fingers seemed to appear: it was the leaves that began to bloom.
This is where the forest festival began.
The nightingale whistled and chirped in the bushes.
Frogs purred and croaked in every puddle. Trees and lilies of the valley bloomed. May beetles buzzed between the branches. Butterflies fluttered from flower to flower. The cuckoo chirped loudly.
Zinka’s friend, the red-capped woodpecker, didn’t grieve that he couldn’t sing: he would find a drier twig and drum on it so famously with his nose that a ringing drum roll was heard throughout the forest.
And wild pigeons rose high above the forest and did dizzying tricks and dead loops in the air. Everyone had fun in their own way, as best they could.
Zinka was curious about everything. Zinka kept pace everywhere and rejoiced along with everyone.
In the mornings, at dawn, Zinka heard someone's loud cries, as if someone was blowing trumpets somewhere beyond the forest. She flew in that direction and now she sees: a swamp, moss and moss, and pines grow on it.
And such big birds walk in the swamp, which Zinka has never seen before - straight from rams, and their necks are long, long. Suddenly they raised their necks like trumpets, and how they trumpeted, how they thundered:
- Trrr-rru-u! Trrr-rr!
Completely stunned the titmouse. Then one spread his wings and his fluffy tail, bowed to the ground to his neighbors, and suddenly began to dance: he trotted, trotted his legs and went in a circle, all in a circle; then he will throw out one leg, then the other, then he will bow, then he will jump, then he will squat - scream!
And others look at him, gathered around, flapping their wings at once. There was no one to ask Zinka in the forest what kind of giant birds they were, and she flew to the city to the Old Sparrow.
And Old Sparrow said to her:
- These are cranes; birds are serious, respectable, and now you see what they are doing. Because it is that the merry month of May has come, and the forest is dressed, and all the flowers are blooming, and all the birds are singing. The sun now warmed everyone and gave bright joy to everyone.

About starlings V.A. Soloukhin

Soon the white blizzard will end
Blue streams will flow.
All birdhouses towards the south
They pricked up their windows.

Due to the ancient customs of the local
We prepare homes for singers.
Over the seas native birdhouses
Be sure to dream of starlings ...

birdie A.S. Pushkin

In a foreign land I sacredly observe
Native custom of antiquity:
I release the bird
At bright holiday spring.

I became available for consolation;
Why should I grumble at God,
When at least one creature
I could give freedom!

* To grumble - to be offended, to express dissatisfaction.

A.N. Pleshcheev

The grass is green
The sun shines;
Swallow with spring
It flies to us in the canopy.
With her the sun is more beautiful
And spring is sweeter ...
Chirp out of the way
Hello to us soon!
I will give you grains
And you sing a song
What from distant countries
Brought along…

birdie F. Tumansky

Yesterday I dissolved the dungeon
My air prisoner:
I returned the singer to the groves,
I returned freedom to her.

She disappeared drowning
In the glow of a blue day
And so she sang, flying away,
Like praying for me.

A.N. Pleshcheev

Warm spring day.
The sun is shining
Bird, flooding
It beckons everyone in the field.

Streets, boulevards
Messed up the people
motley crowds
Goes out of town.

holiday faces
They look joyfully;
Rare, rarely seen
An unhappy look.

Life is good for everyone
So easy it's not
The crowd is smart
No worries, no troubles...

A.N. Maikov

Spring! The first frame is exposed -
And noise broke into the room,
And the blessing of the nearby temple,
And the talk of the people, and the sound of the wheel.

I breathed life and will into my soul:
There - the blue distance is visible ...
And I want to be in the field, in the wide field,
Where, marching, spring pours flowers!

April S.Ya. Marshak

April! April!
Drops are ringing in the yard.
Streams run through the fields
Puddles on the roads.
Ants coming soon
After the winter cold.
Bear sneaks
Through thick deadwood.
The birds began to sing songs
And the snowdrop blossomed.

Spring is a real miracle. Spring is a time of rebirth and new beginnings. wake up after hibernation nature. Streams ran, drops drip from the roof, ice breaks on rivers and lakes. Buds swell on the trees, young grass breaks out from under the ground, the first snowdrops bloom on the thawed patches. Migratory birds return to their homeland, they build nests and sing their spring songs.

To create a spring atmosphere, children need to be introduced to the great works of Russian and foreign writers and poets. No wonder many poets and writers loved spring so much and glorified it in their works.

So what works of poets and writers about spring should be read with a child?
First of all, the works of: A.S. Pushkin, A.A. Feta, F.I. Tyutcheva, A. Maikova, A.N. Tolstoy, S.A. Yesenina, A.A. Akhmatova, B.L. Pasternak M.M. Prishvina, L.N. Tolstoy, I.S. Turgenev, S.A. Aksakov, I.A. Bunin, V. Bianchi, S. Gorodetsky, B. Zakhoder, S. Marshak, A. Barto and others.

Poems about spring for kids can be read in the section Seasons -

These verses are small in size and quite accessible for memorization.
With careful and emotional reading of poems, even Small child will feel the state of spring nature, which the poet conveyed in him. And teach the child to see in a new way the world and love your nature.

Poems about spring for older children, written by different authors, will reveal the beauty of spring nature. This section contains the best poems written by Russian and foreign poets of different times, but all of them are united by love for their nature, which they wanted to convey to their readers. Here is a small list of those authors and poems that are presented in the rubric:

Poems about spring

F.I. Tyutchev - "Spring Waters", "Spring Thunderstorm", "Winter is angry for a reason";
A.A. Feta - “Spring”, “Spring rain”, “Still fragrant bliss of spring”, “First lily of the valley”;
I.A. Bunina - "After the flood";
E. Baratynsky “Spring, spring! How clean the air!
S. Yesenin - "Bird cherry";
A. Maykova - "Swallow";
K. Balmont - "The buds unraveled on the willow";
K.S. Aksakov - "Spring", "Spring Night";
L.N. Tolstoy - "Spring in the yard";
excerpt from the novel "Eugene Onegin" by A.S. Pushkin - "Driven by spring rays";
poems by S. Gorodetsky, B. Zakhoder, S. Marshak and other Russian poets;
E. Baratynsky "Spring, spring! .." (abbreviated) and others.

Spring stories

V. Bianchi - "Mosquitoes are dancing," Hare, kosach, bear and spring. From the book “Forest were and fables”: “Sinichkin calendar ( spring months)”, From the book Bird Talk: “Bird Talk in Spring”. Short stories under the general heading: "Spring".
S. Pokrovskiy - "Among Nature", "The Black Queen and Her People" and "Seasonal Phenomena in Nature", Sladkov Nikolay - "Spring Streams", "Vaunted Swamp", "Willow Feast",
A.I. Solzhenitsyn - The Fire and the Ants.
MM. Prishvin - "Springs of Berendey", "Spring Miniatures", "Seasons",
Sokolov-Mikitov Ivan Sergeevich - “Spring”, Hello, Spring!, “Spring in the Forest”, “Early Spring”, “Spring-Red”, “How Spring Came to the North”, “Sounds of Spring”, from the collection “Blue Days” ”: “Spring in Chun”, from the collection “In the Homeland of Birds”: “Messengers of Spring”, “The Coming of Spring”, “Vevna in the Tundrk” and other stories
K. Ushinsky - Leprosy of the old woman of winter
V. Suteev - "Spring". Collection of stories about Masha and Vanya Knopochkin: How the winter ended.
Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich - Dictionary of native nature
Grigorovich Dmitry Vasilievich - "Great time"
Abramov Fedor Andreevich - stories about Spring
Raisa Rahmi - Spring drops
Gift for mom
Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich - Stories to Spring
first leaves
Winged guests
spring-artist
Happy Bug
On the threshold of spring
An excerpt from the story "The Rooks Have Arrived"

Spring miniatures - M. M. Prishvin
Russian writers about spring:
L.N. Tolstoy "Spring has come" (excerpt from the novel "Anna Karenina", "Anna Karenina" part two, chapter XII), Spring
Tolstoy Alexey Nikolaevich - Spring
Gogol Nikolai Vasilyevich - Spring! Spring! And she's happy!
Turgenev Ivan Sergeevich-Forest and steppe
A.P. Chekhov - "In the Spring", It's already quite spring (excerpt)
Kuprin Alexander Ivanovich - Childhood of Bagrov-grandson (excerpt), Steppe in spring

Tales of Spring

Russian folk tale-How Spring overcame Winter
Denis Emelyanov - Little Mouse and Snowdrop
Hans Christian Andersen - Story of the Year, Snowdrop
Snowdrop Tales
Nikolai Sladkov - Spring streams, Spring joys. From the collection “Forest Secrets. Stories and fairy tales” stories for every month. Forest Tales.
Georgy Skrebitsky - The Tale of Spring
Sergey Kozlov - Pure birds, Forest thaw, Spring fairy tale, How the Hedgehog went to meet the dawn, Unusual spring.
A.N. Ostrovsky "Snow Maiden" - spring fairy tale in four acts with a prologue.

Victoria Goloborodova “Like a hare went to meet spring”.
Tamara Cheremnova "Vesnyanka".
Evgeny Filimonov “Tales of the Forest What is Spring?” and Vesennik
Maria Shkurina “Spring has come” (meditative tale), “The first spring miracle”.
Irina Polulyakh with her daughter Angelina "Spring mood".
Akimova Galina Veniaminovna Adventures of little crow Venka.
Smirnova S. B. “Spring Tale”.
Emilia Russkikh "Spring Tale".
Mikhail Grigoriev "The Tale of Spring and the Gnomes".
Elena Sokolova "When Spring Comes"
Natalya Nikolaeva “What does spring smell like?”
Victoria Stosman "One Spring".
Lyudmila Ulanova "From the stories of the girl Lelka - About spring."
Nelli Gogus "The First Dandelion", "Spring Rain or New Horizons".
Mikhail Tryamov "Pashkin's Spring".
Olga Popova "The Tale of Rostochek".
Ilyukhov V. “Fairy tale spring forest"(The play is a fairy tale).
“Spring Tale” based on the book by E. Grudanov “Fairy Tale Casket”.

This list should be considered indicative only.
Read with children, listen, watch, spring themes.

Stories about spring, stories about spring nature. cognitive spring stories about spring for elementary school children.

Stories for elementary school children

Spring is red

Willow spread white puffs in the garden. Hotter and hotter the sun shines. During the day, drops drip from the roofs, long icicles melt in the sun. Darkened, ruined roads.

The ice on the river turned blue.

The snow melted on the roofs. On the hillocks and near the trees and walls, the earth was bare.

Sparrows are jumping merrily in the yard, spending the winter, happy, happy.

- Alive! Alive! Alive!

The white-nosed rooks have arrived. Important, black, they walk along the roads.

In the forest, it’s as if someone woke up, looking with blue eyes. Spruces smell of tar, and the head is spinning from a lot of smells. The first snowdrops parted last year's stale leaf with their green petals.

These days, the body of birches is filled with sweet juice, the branches turn brown and buds swell, and transparent tears ooze from each scratch.

The very hour of awakening comes imperceptibly. The first willow, and behind it - you casually avert your eyes - the whole forest became green and tender.

At night it's so dark that no matter how hard you try, you can't even see your own fingers. On these nights, the whistle of countless wings is heard in the starless sky.

The beetle hummed, bumped against a birch and fell silent. A mosquito blows over a swamp.

And in the forest, on a dry leaf, a polecat - shuh! whoop! And the first snipe ram played in the sky.

Cranes chattered in the swamp.

The gray wolf, burying himself in the bushes, went to the swamp.

The first frosty woodcock stretched across the brightened sky, chirped over the forest and disappeared.

Louder and louder the capercaillie plays on the bitch. Play - and listens for a long time, stretching his neck. And the cunning hunter stands motionless, waiting for a new song - then at least a cannon fell near the capercaillie.

The first to meet the sun rose like a pillar from the boundary of the lark, higher and higher, and its golden song poured onto the ground. He will be the first to see the sun today.

And behind him, in the clearings, spreading their tails, the black grouse-kosachi went in a round dance. Far in the dawn their booming voice is heard.

The sun has risen - you will not have time to gasp. First, the smallest windows-stars were closed. Only one big star remained burning above the forest.

Then the sky turned golden. Breathed in the breeze and pulled a forest violet.

A shot rang out at dawn and rolled for a long time through the fields, and forests, and copses. For a moment everything was silent, and then it gushed even louder.

A flowing white mist hung over the river and the meadow.

The tops of the heads turned golden - a strong and cheerful someone screamed through the forest! The dazzling sun rose above the earth.

The sun laughs, plays with rays. And there is no strength, looking at the sun, hold back.

- Sun! Sun! Sun! - birds are singing.

- Sun! Sun! Sun! - Flowers open.

(I. Sokolov-Mikitov)

Spring

The sun is shining brighter and brighter over the fields and forest.

Roads darkened in the fields, ice turned blue on the river. White-nosed rooks have arrived, in a hurry to fix their old disheveled nests.

Streams rang on the slopes. Resinous odorous buds puffed out on the trees.

The guys saw the first starlings at the birdhouses. Cheerfully, joyfully shouted:

— Starlings! The starlings have arrived!

A white hare ran out to the edge; sat down on a stump, looked around. Ears on top of a timid hare. A white hare looks: a huge elk with a beard has come out to the edge of the forest. He stopped, listening to the elk... And in the dense forest, a bear brought the little bear cubs born in the den for the first walk. The bear cubs have not yet seen spring, they do not know the big dark forest. They do not know what the awakened earth smells like.

Funny, clumsy cubs are playing merrily in a clearing, by a forest overflowing stream. With fear they look into the cold running water, climb on stumps and old snags thawed in the sun ...

Geese fly in slender schools, stretch from the south; the first cranes appeared.

- Geese! Geese! Cranes! - shout, raising their heads, the guys.

Here the geese circled over the wide river, went down to rest on the wormwood filled with water.

Other flying geese saw geese resting on the ice and began to sit down next to them. The other geese rejoiced at their comrades. Far over the river rolled a joyful cry...

Everything is warmer, noisier and more beautiful spring.

On the warming in the forest, silky soft puffs blossomed on the branches of the willow. Busy ants ran over the bumps.

And above the clearing, where the snowdrops opened, the first butterfly fluttered.

(I. Sokolov-Mikitov)

Arrival of finches

From the arrival of the finches to the cuckoo passes all the beauty of our spring, the finest and most complex, like a bizarre interweaving of the branches of an undressed birch.

During this time, the snow will melt, the waters will rush off, the earth will turn green and be covered with the first, dearest flowers to us, the resinous buds on poplars will crack, fragrant sticky green leaves will open, and then the cuckoo arrives. Only then, after everything beautiful, will everyone say: “Spring has begun, what a delight!”

(M. Prishvin)

birches bloom

When old birch trees are in bloom and golden catkins hide from us above already opened small leaves, below on young ones you see everywhere bright green leaves the size of a raindrop, but still the whole forest is still gray or chocolate - that’s when bird cherry occurs and it’s amazing: how much its leaves on gray seem large and bright. Cherry buds are ready. The cuckoo sings in the most juicy voice. The nightingale learns, adjusts. The devil's mother-in-law is charming at this time, because she has not yet risen with her thorns, but lies on the big earth, beautiful star. Poisonous yellow flowers emerge from under the black forest water and immediately open above the water.

(M. Prishvin)

Spring

It was now impossible to look at the sun - it poured from above in shaggy, dazzling streams. Clouds floated across the blue-blue sky like heaps of snow. The spring breezes smelled of fresh grass and bird nests.

In front of the house, large buds burst on the fragrant poplars, and hens groaned in the baking. In the garden, from the heated earth, piercing the rotting leaves with green bobbins, grass was climbing, the whole meadow was covered with white and yellow stars. Every day there were birds in the garden. Blackbirds ran between the trunks - tricksters to walk. In the lindens, an oriole started up, a big bird, green, with fluff on its wings as yellow as gold, bustling around, whistling with a honeyed voice.

As the sun rose, on all the roofs and birdhouses the starlings woke up, filled with different voices, wheezed, whistled now with a nightingale, then with a lark, then with some African birds, which they had heard enough of over the winter overseas, mocking, out of tune terribly. A woodpecker flew like a gray handkerchief through transparent birches; sitting on the trunk, turning around, raising a red crest on end.

And on Sunday, on a sunny morning, in the trees that were not yet dry with dew, a cuckoo cuckooed by the pond: with a sad, lonely, gentle voice, she blessed everyone who lived in the garden, starting from worms.