Prishvin old mushroom. Mikhailo Mikhailovich Prishvin
Abstract
In the collection "Green Noise" by the famous Russian writer M.M. Prishvina (1873-1954) created the most significant creations that tell about the people of the country, about the beauty of Russian nature and the creaturely world of our country.
Mikhailo Mikhailovich Prishvin
Mikhailo Mikhailovich Prishvin
There was a revolution in us in 1950. Todі my friend buv at the rozvіtі of young forces and fighting on the barricades in Presnі. Unknown people, chatting with him, called him brother.
- Tell me, brother, - power yoga, - de.
Name the street, and brother, tell me, where is the street.
Persha came light war thousand nine hundred and fourteenth fate, and, I feel, it seems to you:
- Father, tell me.
They began to call not brother, but father.
The Great Zhovtnev revolution has come. My friend had white hair in his beard and on his head. Those, who knew yoga before the revolution, now chirped, marveled at the white-and-silver hair and said:
- What is it, father, becoming a flour trader?
- Ні, - відпів він, - srіblom. Alerich is out of whack.
Yogo spravzhnє bulo - serve the suspіlstvo, i sche vіn buv lіkar i likuvav people, i sche vіn buv duzhe good people and to all those who have gone wild before the new for joy, having helped everyone. And so, pratsyyuchi from the wound until late night, lived for fifteen years under Radyansk vlad.
I feel, once on the street someone sings yogo:
- Didusyu, but didusyu, tell me.
And having become my friend, a big boy, we sat with children at the old gymnasium on the same bench.
So the axis passes for an hour, just fly for an hour, you can’t look around.
Well, harazd, I'll continue about a friend. Bіlіє ta bіlіє our dіdus, and so it is, nareshti, the day of our great holy victory over the nіtsy. And I’m going to, after honoring the request for Red Square, go under the parasol and the plank, don’t be afraid. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and Bachimo there, behind the lance of militiamen, along all the square of Viysk - well done to well done. Sirista looked like a plank, and you looked at them, standing like a stink, and crying, the weather was already good.
We began to show our passes, and then, don’t take the stars, you’re a cotton, a beshketnik, maybe, thinking like a blink at the parade. After pumping this beshketnik of my old friend under a parasol, it seems to you:
- Are you going again, old mushroom?
It became a cover for me, I know, I got angry here and that lad for the comir. Vіn same virvavsya, stribnuv, like a hare, looking at the haircut and vtіk.
The parade on Chervoniy Square was celebrated for the next hour in my memory and the boy and the “old mushroom”. But if I came home and lay down, the “old mushroom” guessed me again. I said this to the invisible Beshketnik:
- Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old superchick of the future is alive and well for other, new mushrooms.
I guessed one of the fox's maidens to me, where I'm picking mushrooms regularly. It was a great fall of autumn, if birches and aspens begin to sip on young yalinkas down golden and red puffs.
The day is warm and navіt parkіy, if the mushrooms are climbing from the water, warm earth. On such a day, buvay, you will pick everything up, and in no time after you there will be another mushroom picker, and right there, from that same month, you will pick it up again: you will take it, and the mushrooms will keep licking and licking.
Otaky i buv now mushroom, parky day. Alecia once had no luck with mushrooms. Having collected all sorts of rubbish in my cat: sirozhki, chervonogoloviki, podberezniki, and there were only two white mushrooms. Yakbi mushrooms, spravzhnі mushrooms, becoming a bi, old man, get sick of the black mushroom! Alas, work hard, bend down and orphan as needed.
It was already parko, and as I bowed, everything in me fell in the middle and I wanted to drink to death.
Buvayut strumki in our forests, paws diverge from the strumki, paws to the shepherd, or just sleeping. Before that, I wanted to drink, maybe I could try some wet earth. Ale, the storm was far away, but the gloom was still farther away: you couldn’t bring your feet to a storm, you couldn’t hang your hands to the gloom.
I feel here, behind a partial barn, a little lilac bird squeak:
- Drink, drink!
Tse, buvaє, in front of the plank, a little lilac bird - a plank - drink to ask:
- Drink, drink!
- Stupid, - I said, - so the axis is cold to you and listen.
Marveling at the sky, and de check the board: the sky is clear above us, and the steam from the earth, like a lazna.
What is robiti here, yak buti?
And the birdie squeaks everything in its own way:
- Drink, drink!
I laughed at myself here, that I’m an old man, I’m still alive, I’m alive, I’m full of everything in the world, I’m aware of it, but here it’s just a bird, and in us there’s only one thing from her.
“Let’s go,” I said to myself, “I’ll be amazed at my comrade.
I pushed my way carefully, noiselessly into the frequent yalinnik, lifting one little needle: well, axis and hello!
Through the whole, in the end, the galyavin appeared in the fox, in the middle of the two birch trees, under the birches, the stump and the hand from the stump near the green lingonberry red syroyka, so majestic, such as I have never seen in my life. Vaughn was so old, that the edges of her, as if they were only at the sirozhok, lit up uphill.
And in the sight of this, the whole sirozhka was like a big deep plate, moreover, it was filled with water.
It made me happy in my soul.
Raptom bachu: golden bird from the birch, sitting on the edge of the syroyka and with its nose - a bale! - by the water. І head on the mountain, so that the drop went down the throat.
- Drink, drink! - there is another bird from the birch.
The leaf there is on the water in a container - small, dry, yellow. The axis is a bird of a klune, the water shudders, and the leaf takes a walk. And I’m running out of everything and I’m not in a hurry: what a lot of birds you need, get yourself drunk, we’ll hit it!
One got drunk, flew to the birch. Insha went down and the same strength to the edge of the sirozhka. I'm the one who got drunk, the beast.
- Drink, drink!
Viyshov I from the yalinnik so quietly that the birds didn’t sing like that, but only flew from the same birch to our country.
Ale, the stench did not become calm, as before, but with anxiety, and I was so sensible that I fed them alone.
- Vip'e?
Other advice:
- Don't beep!
I was so wise that the stench was talking about me, and about a plate of forest water, one guessed - wip'є, if she crossed - not wip'є.
- Vip'yu, vip'yu! – I told them the corner.
The stench more often squeaked their "wip'e-wip'e".
But it’s not so easy for me to drink a plate of forest water.
Obviously, you can just work, how to shake a mustache, who does not understand the life of the forest and come to the forest only to take something. With such a mushroom knife, he carefully pierced the birch, lifting it to himself, drinking the water, and knocking the undesirable droplet like an old mushroom right there on the tree.
Zazyatya yak!
And, in my opinion, it's just unreasonable. Think for yourself, how in a moment I would grow up, how two birds got drunk on my eyes from an old mushroom, and there are few beers without me, and I myself, fading in the sight of sprout, immediately get drunk, and if I renew the presence of wood, and I know everyone will drink. And there they gave us the chance to grow up near the mushrooms - super-chickens, the wind to drink them, rose the forest for the future.
Mabut, do nothing. I croaked, croaked, sank down on my old knee and lay on my life. Out of necessity, I say, I leaned into the sirozhets.
And the birds! Birds play their own.
- Vip'є - not vip'є?
- Hі, comrades, - I said to them, - now don't talk anymore, now I got there and whine.
It happened so well that if I lay down on my life, then my baked lips were just like the cold lips of a mushroom. Ale, if only I could sorbnut, I’m running in front of me in a golden boat from a birch leaf on my thin cobwebs, a spider is descending in a hawk in a saucer. Why do you want to swim, why do you need to drink.
- There are skils of you here, buggers! I said to youma. - Well, you.
I drank the whole fox cup to the bottom in one breath.
Mikhailo Mikhailovich Prishvin (1873-1954) - Russian radianian writer, author of works about nature, thoughtful explanations, works for children.
May all the works of Prishvin, published for life, dedicated to describing the vlasnyh vrazheniy vіd zustrichy with nature, tsі description vіdznyayutsya by the transcendental beauty of the movement. Kostyantin Paustovsky called yoga "the melody of Russian nature", Gorky said that Prishvin maw "thoroughly smack the gnuchki poednannyam". simple words Mayzhe physical sensitivity to us."
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki
"Old Mushroom"
Chit.N.Litvinov
record 1978 rec
It was a great fall of autumn, if birches and aspens begin to sip on young yalinkas down golden and red puffs. The day is warm and navіt parkіy, if the mushrooms are climbing from the water, warm earth. On such a day, buvay, you will pick everything up, and in no time after you there will be another mushroom picker, and right there, from that same month, you will pick it up again: you will take it, and the mushrooms will keep licking and licking. Otaky i buv now mushroom, parky day. Alecia once had no luck with mushrooms. Having collected all sorts of rubbish in my cat: sirozhki, chervonogoloviki, podberezniki, and there were only two white mushrooms. Yakby boletus mushrooms, spravzhnі mushrooms, becoming bi, old people, get sick of the black mushroom! Alas, work hard, bend down and orphan as needed. It was already parko, and as I bowed, everything in me fell in the middle and I wanted to drink to death. Buvayut strumki in our forests, paws diverge from the strumki, paws to the shepherd, or just sleeping. Before that, I wanted to drink, maybe I could try some wet earth. Ale, the storm was far away, but the gloom was still farther away: you couldn’t bring your feet to a storm, you couldn’t hang your hands to the gloom. I feel here, behind a partial egg, a little lilac bird squeak: - Drink, drink! Tse, buvay, in front of the plank, a little lilac bird - a plank - ask to drink: - Drink, drink! - Stupid, - I said, - then the axis is cool to you, then you will listen. Marveling at the sky, and de check the board: the sky is clear above us, and the steam from the earth, like a lazna. What is robiti here, yak buti? And the bird tezh squeaks everything in its own way: - Drink, drink! I laughed at myself here, that I’m an old man, I’m still alive, I’m alive, I’m full of everything in the world, I’m aware of it, but here it’s just a bird, and in us there’s only one thing from her. “Let’s go,” I said to myself, “I’ll be amazed at my comrade. I pushed my way carefully, noiselessly into the frequent yalinnik, lifting one little needle: well, axis and hello! Through the whole, in the end, the galyavin appeared in the fox, in the middle of the two birch trees, under the birches, the stump and the hand from the stump near the green lingonberry red syroyka, so majestic, such as I have never seen in my life. Vaughn was so old, that the edges of her, as if they were only at the sirozhok, lit up uphill. And in the sight of this, the whole sirozhka was like a big deep plate, moreover, it was filled with water. It made me happy in my soul. Raptom bachu: golden bird from the birch, sitting on the edge of the syroyka and with its nose - a bale! - by the water. І head on the mountain, so that the drop went down the throat. - Drink, drink! - there is another bird from the birch. The leaf there is on the water in a container - small, dry, yellow. The axis is a bird of a klune, the water shudders, and the leaf takes a walk. And then I’m running out of everything and I won’t hurry: what a lot of birds you need, get yourself drunk, we’ll hitch! One got drunk, flew to the birch. Insha went down and the same strength to the edge of the sirozhka. I'm the one who got drunk, the beast. - Drink, drink! Viyshov I from the yalinnik so quietly that the birds didn’t sing like that, but only flew from the same birch to our country. Ale, the stench did not become calm, as before, but with anxiety, and I was so sensible that I fed them alone. - Vip'e? Insha vіdpovіla: - Do not vip'є! I was so wise that the stench was talking about me, and about a plate of forest water, one guessed - wip'є, if she crossed - not wip'є. - Vip'yu, vip'yu! – I told them the corner. The stench more often squealed their "wip'e wip'e". But it was not so easy for me to drink a plate of fox water. Obviously, you can just work, how to shake the mustache, who does not understand the life of the forest, and only come to the forest to take something. With such a mushroom knife, he carefully pierced the birch, lifting it to himself, drinking the water, and knocking the undesirable droplet like an old mushroom right there on the tree. Zazyatya yak! And, in my opinion, it's just unreasonable. Think for yourself, how in a moment I would grow up, how two birds got drunk on my eyes from an old mushroom, and there are few beers without me, and I myself, fading in the sight of sprout, immediately get drunk, and if I renew the presence of wood, and I know everyone will drink. And there they gave us the chance to grow up near the mushrooms - super-chickens, the wind to drink them, rose the forest for the future. Mabut, do nothing. I croaked, croaked, sank down on my old knee and lay on my life. Out of necessity, I say, I leaned into the sirozhets. And the birds! Birds play their own. - Vip'є - not vip'є? - Hі, comrades, - I said to them, - now don't talk anymore, now I got there and whine. It happened so well that if I lay down on my life, then my baked lips were just like the cold lips of a mushroom. Ale, if only I could sorbnut, I’m running in front of me in a golden boat from a birch leaf on my thin cobwebs, a spider is descending in a hawk in a saucer. Why do you want to swim, why do you need to drink. - There are skils of you here, buggers! I said to youma. - Well, you. I drank the whole fox cup to the bottom in one breath.
http://www.prishvin.org.ru/ll-al-elbook-1464/
There was a revolution in us in 1950. Todі my friend buv at the rozvіtі of young forces and fighting on the barricades in Presnі. Unknown people, chatting with him, called him brother.
- Tell me, brother, - yogo is sleeping, - de ... I will name the street, and brother, tell me, where is the street. The first night of the world has come for a thousand nine hundred and fourteenth fate, and, I feel, it seems to you;
- Father, tell me...
They began to call not brother, but father.
The rest of the great revolution has come. My friend's beard and hair appeared whiter on his head. Those, who knew yoga before the revolution, now chirped, marveled at the white-and-silver hair and said:
“What is it, father, having become a flour trader?
- Ні, - відпів він, - srіblom. Alerich is out of whack. To the right, on the right, she was to serve the suspense, and yet she was a likar and exulted people, and she was also a good man and all, who had been savage to the new for joy, having helped everyone. And so, pratsyyuchi from the wound until late night, lived for fifteen years under Radyansk vlad. I feel, once on the street someone sings.
- Didusyu, and didusyu, say ...
And having become my friend, a big boy, we sat with children at the old gymnasium on the same bench.
So the whole hour passes, just fly for an hour, you can’t look around.
Well, harazd, I'll continue about a friend. Bіlіє ta bіlіє our dіdus, and so it is, nareshti, the day of our great holy victory over the nіtsy. And I’m going to, after honoring the request for Red Square, go under the parasol and the plank, don’t be afraid. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and Bachimo there, behind the lance of militiamen, for about all the Viysk square - well done to well done. Sirista looked like a plank, and you looked at them, standing like a stink, and crying, the weather was already good.
We began to show our passes, and then, don’t take the stars, you’re a cotton, a beshketnik, maybe, thinking like a blink at the parade. After pumping this beshketnik of my old friend under a parasol, it seems to you:
“What are you doing, you old mushroom?”
It became a cover for me, I know, I got angry here and that lad for the comir. Vіn same virvavsya, stribnuv, like a hare, looking at the haircut and vtіk.
The parade on Chervoniy Square was celebrated for the next hour in memory of my boy and the "old mushroom". But if I come home and lie down, the "old mushroom" will guess again. I said this to the invisible Beshketnik:
Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old superchick of the future is alive and well for other, new mushrooms.
I guessed one of the fox's maidens to me, where I'm picking mushrooms regularly. It was a great fall of autumn, if birches and aspens begin to sip on young yalinkas down golden and red puffs.
The day is warm and navіt parkіy, if the mushrooms are climbing from the water, warm earth. On such a day, buvay, you pick everything up, and in no time after you come another mushroom picker, and right there, from that same month, pick it up again, you pick it up, and the mushrooms all lick and lick.
Otaky i buv now mushroom, parky day. Alecia once had no luck with mushrooms. Having collected all sorts of rubbish in my cat: sirozhki, chervonogoloviki, podberezniki, and there were only two white mushrooms. Yakby boletus mushrooms, spravzhnі mushrooms, becoming bi, old people, get sick of the black mushroom! Alas, work hard, bend down and orphan as needed.
It was already parko, and as I bowed, everything in me fell in the middle and I wanted to drink to death. But don’t go home on such a day with only black mushrooms! It was about an hour ahead of me to ask for the jokes of the whites.
Buvayut strumki in our forests, paws diverge from the strumki, paws to the shepherd, or just sleeping. Before that, I wanted to drink, maybe I could try some wet earth. Ale, the storm was far away, but the gloom was still farther away: you couldn’t bring your feet to a storm, you couldn’t hang your hands to the gloom.
I feel, here, behind a partial egg, a little lilac bird squeaks:
"Drink, drink!"
Tse, buvaє, in front of the plank, a little lilac bird - a plank - to drink to ask:
"Drink, drink!"
“Bastard,” I said, “then you’re ugly and listen to me!”
Marveling at the sky, and de check the board: clear is the sky above us and steam from the earth, like a lazna.
What is robiti here, yak buti?
And the birdie squeaks everything in its own way:
"Drink, drink!"
I laughed at myself here, that I’m an old man, I’m still alive, I’m alive, I’m full of everything in the world, I’m aware of it, but here it’s just a bird, and in us there’s only one thing from her.
“Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll be amazed at my comrade.
I pushed my way carefully, noiselessly into the frequent yalinnik, lifting one little needle: well, axis and hello!
Through the whole, in the end, the galyavin appeared in the fox, in the middle there were two birch trees, under the birch trees - a stump and a handful of stumps near the green lingonberry red syroyka, so majestic, such as I have never seen in life. Vaughn was so old, that the edges of her, as if they were only at the sirozhok, lit up uphill.
And in the sight of this, the whole sirozhka was like a big deep plate, moreover, it was filled with water. It made me happy in my soul.
Raptom bachu: golden bird from the birch, sitting on the edge of the syroyka and with its nose - a bale! - by the water. І head on the mountain, so that the drop went down the throat.
"Drink, drink!" - there is another bird from the birch.
Leafing there boulo on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. The axis is a bird of a klune, the water shudders, and the leaf takes a walk. And I’m running out of everything and I’m not in a hurry: what a lot of birds you need, get yourself drunk, we’ll hit it!
One got drunk, flew to the birch. Insha went down and the same strength to the edge of the sirozhka. And the one who got drunk, the beast їy:
"Drink, drink!"
Viyshov I from the yalinnik so quietly that the birds didn’t sing like that, but only flew from the same birch to our country.
Ale, the stench did not become calm, as before, but with anxiety, and I was so sensible that I alone nourished:
"Wip'e?"
Other advice:
"Don't beep!"
I was so wise that the stench was talking about me and about a plate of forest water: one guessed - vyp'є, another quarreled - not vyp'є.
- Vip'yu, vip'yu! - I told them the corner.
The stench more often squealed their own: "Vip'e-vip'e."
But it’s not so easy for me to drink a plate of forest water.
Of course, you can just work, how to shake the mustache, who does not understand the life of the forest and come to the forest only to take something. With such a mushroom knife, he carefully pierced the birch, lifting it up to himself, drinking water, and smacking the undesirable droplet like an old mushroom on a tree.
Zazyatya yak!
And in my opinion, it's just unreasonable. Think for yourself, how in a moment I would grow up, how two birds got drunk on my eyes from an old mushroom, and there are few beers without me, and I myself, fading in the sight of sprout, immediately get drunk, and if I renew the presence of wood, and I know everyone will drink. And there they gave us a chance to grow up near the mushrooms - superworts, the wind to drink them, the rose of the forest for the future ...
Mabut, do nothing. I croaked, croaked, sank down on my old knee and lay on my life. Out of necessity, I say, I leaned into the sirozhets.
And the birds! Birds play their own;
"Vip'є - not vip'є?"
“Hi, comrades,” I said to them, “now don’t fight anymore: now I have reached and whistled.
It happened so well, if I lay down on my life, then my lips were baked, just like the cold lips of the mushroom. Ale, if only I could sorbnut, I’m running in front of me in a golden boat from a birch leaf on my thin cobwebs, a spider is descending in a hawk in a saucer. Why do you want to swim, why do you need to drink.
- Skilki you, buggers! - I said to youmu. - Well, you ...
I drank the whole fox cup to the bottom in one breath.
Possibly, I felt pity for my friend, guessing about the old mushroom and rose to you. Ale tell about the old mushroom - the whole cob can great warning about fox. Let me tell you about those who happened to me, if I got drunk with living water.
Tse there will be miracles, not like a story about living water and dead, but right, like stinks wafting through and everywhere and in the whimpering of our life, but only often, sighing eyes, їх not bachimo, vaping vukha - not chuєmo.
————————————————————
Announcement by M.M. Prishvina about nature
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My zoshiti -
Mikhailo Mikhailovich Prishvin
old mushroom
There was a revolution in us in 1950. Todі my friend buv at the rozvіtі of young forces and fighting on the barricades in Presnі. Unknown people, chatting with him, called him brother.
- Tell me, brother, - power yoga, - de.
Name the street, and brother, tell me, where is the street.
The first light of war came on a thousand nine hundred and fourteenth fate, and, I feel, it seems to you:
- Father, tell me.
They began to call not brother, but father.
The Great Zhovtnev revolution has come. My friend had white hair in his beard and on his head. Those, who knew yoga before the revolution, now chirped, marveled at the white-and-silver hair and said:
- What is it, father, becoming a flour trader?
- Ні, - відпів він, - srіblom. Alerich is out of whack.
On the right, the right side was to serve the suspense, and even more, I was a good man, and I helped people, and I was still a good person, and all those who had gone to hell for joy, having helped everyone. And so, pratsyyuchi from the wound until late night, lived for fifteen years under Radyansk vlad.
I feel, once on the street someone sings yogo:
- Didusyu, but didusyu, tell me.
And having become my friend, a big boy, we sat with children at the old gymnasium on the same bench.
So the axis passes for an hour, just fly for an hour, you can’t look around.
Well, harazd, I'll continue about a friend. Bіlіє ta bіlіє our dіdus, and so it is, nareshti, the day of our great holy victory over the nіtsy. And I’m going to, after honoring the request for Red Square, go under the parasol and the plank, don’t be afraid. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and Bachimo there, behind the lance of militiamen, along all the square of Viysk - well done to well done. Sirista looked like a plank, and you looked at them, standing like a stink, and crying, the weather was already good.
We began to show our passes, and then, don’t take the stars, you’re a cotton, a beshketnik, maybe, thinking like a blink at the parade. After pumping this beshketnik of my old friend under a parasol, it seems to you:
- Are you going again, old mushroom?
It became a cover for me, I know, I got angry here and that lad for the comir. Vіn same virvavsya, stribnuv, like a hare, looking at the haircut and vtіk.
The parade on Chervoniy Square was celebrated for the next hour in my memory and the boy and the “old mushroom”. But if I came home and lay down, the “old mushroom” guessed me again. I said this to the invisible Beshketnik:
- Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old superchick of the future is alive and well for other, new mushrooms.
I guessed one of the fox's maidens to me, where I'm picking mushrooms regularly. It was a great fall of autumn, if birches and aspens begin to sip on young yalinkas down golden and red puffs.
The day is warm and navіt parkіy, if the mushrooms are climbing from the water, warm earth. On such a day, buvay, you will pick everything up, and in no time after you there will be another mushroom picker, and right there, from that same month, you will pick it up again: you will take it, and the mushrooms will keep licking and licking.
Otaky i buv now mushroom, parky day. Alecia once had no luck with mushrooms. Having collected all sorts of rubbish in my cat: sirozhki, chervonogoloviki, podberezniki, and there were only two white mushrooms. Yakby boletus mushrooms, spravzhnі mushrooms, becoming bi, old people, get sick of the black mushroom! Alas, work hard, bend down and orphan as needed.
It was already parko, and as I bowed, everything in me fell in the middle and I wanted to drink to death.
Buvayut strumki in our forests, paws diverge from the strumki, paws to the shepherd, or just sleeping. Before that, I wanted to drink, maybe I could try some wet earth. Ale, the storm was far away, but the gloom was still farther away: you couldn’t bring your feet to a storm, you couldn’t hang your hands to the gloom.
I feel here, behind a partial barn, a little lilac bird squeak:
- Drink, drink!
Tse, buvaє, in front of the plank, a little lilac bird - a plank - drink to ask:
- Drink, drink!
- Stupid, - I said, - so the axis is cold to you and listen.
Marveling at the sky, and de check the board: the sky is clear above us, and the steam from the earth, like a lazna.
What is robiti here, yak buti?
And the birdie squeaks everything in its own way:
- Drink, drink!
I laughed at myself here, that I’m an old man, I’m still alive, I’m alive, I’m full of everything in the world, I’m aware of it, but here it’s just a bird, and in us there’s only one thing from her.
“Let’s go,” I said to myself, “I’ll be amazed at my comrade.
I pushed my way carefully, noiselessly into the frequent yalinnik, lifting one little needle: well, axis and hello!
Through the whole, in the end, the galyavin appeared in the fox, in the middle of the two birch trees, under the birches, the stump and the hand from the stump near the green lingonberry red syroyka, so majestic, such as I have never seen in my life. Vaughn was so old, that the edges of her, as if they were only at the sirozhok, lit up uphill.
And in the sight of this, the whole sirozhka was like a big deep plate, moreover, it was filled with water.
It made me happy in my soul.
Raptom bachu: golden bird from the birch, sitting on the edge of the syroyka and with its nose - a bale! - by the water. І head on the mountain, so that the drop went down the throat.
- Drink, drink! - there is another bird from the birch.
The leaf there is on the water in a container - small, dry, yellow. The axis is a bird of a klune, the water shudders, and the leaf takes a walk. And I’m running out of everything and I’m not in a hurry: what a lot of birds you need, get yourself drunk, we’ll hit it!
One got drunk, flew to the birch. Insha went down and the same strength to the edge of the sirozhka. I'm the one who got drunk, the beast.
- Drink, drink!
Viyshov I from the yalinnik so quietly that the birds didn’t sing like that, but only flew from the same birch to our country.
Ale, the stench did not become calm, as before, but with anxiety, and I was so sensible that I fed them alone.
- Vip'e?
Other advice:
- Don't beep!
I was so wise that the stench was talking about me, and about a plate of forest water, one guessed - wip'є, if she crossed - not wip'є.
- Vip'yu, vip'yu! – I told them the corner.
The stench more often squeaked their "wip'e-wip'e".
But it’s not so easy for me to drink a plate of forest water.
Obviously, you can just work, how to shake a mustache, who does not understand the life of the forest and come to the forest only to take something. With such a mushroom knife, he carefully pierced the birch, lifting it to himself, drinking the water, and knocking the undesirable droplet like an old mushroom right there on the tree.
Zazyatya yak!
And, in my opinion, it's just unreasonable. Think for yourself, how in a moment I would grow up, how two birds got drunk on my eyes from an old mushroom, and there are few beers without me, and I myself, fading in the sight of sprout, immediately get drunk, and if I renew the presence of wood, and I know everyone will drink. And there they gave us the chance to grow up near the mushrooms - super-chickens, the wind to drink them, rose the forest for the future.
Mabut, do nothing. I croaked, croaked, sank down on my old knee and lay on my life. Out of necessity, I say, I leaned into the sirozhets.
And the birds! Birds play their own.
- Vip'є - not vip'є?
- Hі, comrades, - I said to them, - now don't talk anymore, now I got there and whine.
It happened so well that if I lay down on my life, then my baked lips were just like the cold lips of a mushroom. Ale, if only I could sorbnut, I’m running in front of me in a golden boat from a birch leaf on my thin cobwebs, a spider is descending in a hawk in a saucer. Why do you want to swim, why do you need to drink.
- There are skils of you here, buggers! I said to youmu. - Well, you.
I drank the whole fox cup to the bottom in one breath.
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Mikhailo Prishvin
old mushroom
la we have a revolution of a thousand and nine hundred and five years. Todі my friend buv at the rozvіtі of young forces and fighting on the barricades in Presnі. Unknown people, chatting with him, called him brother.
Tell me, brother, - energize yoga, - de ... I will name the street, and brother, tell me, where is the street. The first night of the world has come for a thousand nine hundred and fourteenth fate, and, I feel, it seems to you;
Dad, tell me...
They began to call not brother, but father.
The rest of the great revolution has come. My friend's beard and hair appeared whiter on his head. Those, who knew yoga before the revolution, now chirped, marveled at the white-and-silver hair and said:
What is it, father, having become a flour trader?
Ні, - відпів він, - srіblom. Alerich is out of whack. To the right of the bula on the right - to serve the suspіlstvo, and more vіn buv lіkar і likuvav people, і more vіn buv be a good person and all, who until the new year were tormented for joy, having helped everyone. And so, pratsyyuchi from the wound until late night, lived for fifteen years under Radyansk vlad. I feel, once on the street someone sings.
Didusyu, and didusyu, say...
And having become my friend, a big boy, we sat with children at the old gymnasium on the same bench.
So the whole hour passes, just fly for an hour, you can’t look around.
Well, harazd, I'll continue about a friend. Bіlіє ta bіlіє our dіdus, and so it is, nareshti, the day of our great holy victory over the nіtsy. And I’m going to, after honoring the request for Red Square, go under the parasol and the plank, don’t be afraid. So we pass to Sverdlov Square and Bachimo there, behind the lancer of militiamen, for about all the Viysk square - well done to well done. Sirista looked like a plank, and you looked at them, standing like a stink, and crying, the weather was already good.
We began to show our passes, and then, don’t take the stars, you’re a cotton, a beshketnik, maybe, thinking like a blink at the parade. After pumping this beshketnik of my old friend under a parasol, it seems to you:
Are you going again, old mushroom?
It became a cover for me, I know, I got angry here and that lad for the comir. Vіn same virvavsya, stribnuv, like a hare, looking at the haircut and vtіk.
The parade on Chervoniy Square was celebrated for the next hour in memory of my boy and the "old mushroom". But if I come home and lie down, the "old mushroom" will guess again. I said this to the invisible Beshketnik:
Why is a young mushroom better than an old one? The young one asks for a frying pan, and the old superchick of the future is alive and well for other, new mushrooms.
I guessed one of the fox's maidens to me, where I'm picking mushrooms regularly. It was a great fall of autumn, if birches and aspens begin to sip on young yalinkas down golden and red puffs.
The day is warm and navіt parkіy, if the mushrooms are climbing from the water, warm earth. On such a day, buvay, you pick everything up, and in no time after you come another mushroom picker, and right there, from that same month, pick it up again, you pick it up, and the mushrooms all lick and lick.
Otaky i buv now mushroom, parky day. Alecia once had no luck with mushrooms. Having collected all sorts of rubbish in my cat: sirozhki, chervonogoloviki, podberezniki, and there were only two white mushrooms. Yakby boletus mushrooms, spravzhnі mushrooms, becoming bi, old people, get sick of the black mushroom! Alas, work hard, bend down and orphan as needed.
It was already parko, and as I bowed, everything in me fell in the middle and I wanted to drink to death. But don’t go home on such a day with only black mushrooms! It was about an hour ahead of me to ask for the jokes of the whites.
Buvayut strumki in our forests, paws diverge from the strumki, paws to the shepherd, or just wind up the sleeping area. Before that, I wanted to drink, maybe I could try some wet earth. Ale was far away, but the gloom was farther away: you couldn’t bring your feet to a sludge, you couldn’t hang your hands to a gloom.
I feel, here, behind a partial egg, a little lilac bird squeaks:
"Drink, drink!"
Tse, buvaє, in front of the board, a little lilac bird - a board - to drink - ask:
"Drink, drink!"
Stupid, - I said, - so the axis is cold to you and listen!
Marveling at the sky, and de check the board: clear is the sky above us and steam from the earth, like a lazna.
What is robiti here, yak buti?
And the birdie squeaks everything in its own way:
"Drink, drink!"
I laughed at myself here, that I’m an old man, I’m still alive, I’m alive, I’m full of everything in the world, I’m aware of it, but here it’s just a bird, and in us there’s only one thing from her.
Give me, - I said to myself, - I will marvel at my comrade.
I pushed my way carefully, noiselessly into the frequent yalinnik, lifting one little needle: well, axis and hello!
Through the whole, in the end, the galyavin appeared in the forest, in the middle of the two birch trees, under the birch trees - a stump and a hand from the stump of the green lingonberry red syroyka, so majestic, such as I have never seen in my life. Vaughn was so old, that the edges of her, as if they were only at the sirozhok, lit up uphill.
And in the sight of this, the whole sirozhka was like a big deep plate, moreover, it was filled with water. It made me happy in my soul.
Raptom bachu: golden bird from the birch, sitting on the edge of the syroyka and with its nose - a bale! - by the water. І head on the mountain, so that the drop went down the throat.
"Drink, drink!" - there is another bird from the birch.
The leaf there is on the water in a container - small, dry, yellow. The axis is a bird of a klune, the water shudders, and the leaf takes a walk. And I’m running out of everything and I’m not in a hurry: what a lot of birds you need, get yourself drunk, we’ll hit it!
One got drunk, flew to the birch. Insha went down and the same strength to the edge of the sirozhka. And the one who got drunk, the beast їy:
"Drink, drink!"
Viyshov I from the yalinnik so quietly that the birds didn’t sing like that, but only flew from the same birch to our country.
Ale, the stench did not become calm, as before, but with anxiety, and I was so sensible that I alone nourished:
"Wip'e?"
Other advice:
"Don't beep!"
I was so wise that the stench was talking about me and about a plate of forest water: one guessed - vyp'є, another quarreled - not vyp'є.
Whip, wip, wip! - I told them the corner.
The stench more often squealed their own: "Vip'e-vip'e."
But it’s not so easy for me to drink a plate of forest water.
Of course, you can just work, how to shake the mustache, who does not understand the life of the forest and come to the forest only to take something. With such a mushroom knife, he carefully pierced the birch, lifting it up to himself, drinking water, and smacking the undesirable droplet like an old mushroom on a tree.
Zazyatya yak!
And in my opinion, it's just unreasonable. Think for yourself, how in a moment I would grow up, how two birds got drunk on my eyes from an old mushroom, and there are few beers without me, and I myself, fading in the sight of sprout, immediately get drunk, and if I renew the presence of wood, and I know everyone will drink. And there they gave us the chance to see the fungus for the future - super-girls, the wind to drink them, the rose of the forest for the future ...
Mabut, do nothing. I croaked, croaked, sank down on my old knee and lay on my life. Out of necessity, I say, I leaned into the sirozhets.
And the birds! Birds play their own;
"Vip'є - not vip'є?"
Hі, comrades, - I said to them, - now do not get together any more: now I have reached and whistled.
It happened so well, if I lay down on my life, then my lips were baked, just like the cold lips of the mushroom. Ale, if only I could sorbnut, I’m running in front of me in a golden boat from a birch leaf on my thin cobwebs, a spider is descending in a hawk in a saucer. Why do you want to swim, why do you need to drink.
Skilki are you here eager! I said to youma. - Well, you...
I drank the whole fox cup to the bottom in one breath.
Possibly, I felt pity for my friend, guessing about the old mushroom and rose to you. Ale rozpovid about the old mushroom - just the cob of my great rozpovid about the forest. Let me tell you about those who happened to me, if I got drunk with living water.
Tse there will be miracles, not like a story about living water and dead, but right, like stinks wafting through and everywhere and in the whimpering of our life, but only often, sighing eyes, їх not bachimo, vaping vukha - not chuєmo.
