A little story about a summer forest for a kindergarten. Poems, stories, fairy tales about summer a book on fiction (senior group) on the topic

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Summer - Ushinsky K.D.

From the story "Summer" we learn about where the sun rises and sets, about rain, about summer plants, mushrooms, berries, insects and, of course, about harvesting.

Summer read

Early summer has the longest days. For about twelve hours the sun does not descend from the sky, and the evening dawn has not yet had time to go out in the west, as a whitish stripe appears in the east - a sign of the approaching morning. And the closer to the north, the days in summer are longer and the nights are shorter.

The sun rises high and high in summer, not like in winter; a little higher and it would be right overhead. Its almost sheer rays are very warm, and by noon they even burn mercilessly. Here comes noon; the sun climbed high on the transparent blue vault of the sky. Only in some places, like light silver dashes, cirrus clouds are visible - harbingers of constant good weather, or buckets, as the peasants say. The sun can no longer go higher, and from this point it will begin to descend towards the west. The point from which the sun begins to decline is called noon. Stand facing noon, and the side you are looking at will be south, to the left, where the sun rose from, is east, to the right, where it slopes, is west, and behind you is north, where the sun never shines.

At noon, not only is it impossible to look at the sun itself without a strong, burning pain in the eyes, but it is even difficult to look at the brilliant sky and earth, at everything that is illuminated by the sun. And the sky, and the fields, and the air are filled with hot, bright light, and the eye involuntarily searches for greenery and coolness. It's too warm! Over the resting fields (those on which nothing has been sown this year) light steam flows. This is warm air, filled with vapors: flowing like water, it rises from the very heated earth. That is why our clever peasants talk about such fields, that they rest under fallow. The tree does not move, and the leaves, as if tired by the heat, hung. The birds hid in the wilderness; livestock stop grazing and seek coolness; a person, drenched in sweat and feeling very exhausted, leaves work: everything is waiting for the fever to subside. But for bread, for hay, for trees, these heats are necessary.

However, a long drought is harmful to plants that love heat, but also love moisture; It's hard on people too. That is why people rejoice when storm clouds roll in, thunder strikes, lightning flashes and refreshing rain waters the thirsty earth. If only the rain was not with hail, which sometimes happens in the middle of the hottest summer: hail is destructive for ripening grain and lays another field with gloss. The peasants zealously pray to God that there will be no hail.

Everything that spring started ends summer. The leaves grow to their full size, and, recently still transparent, the grove becomes an impenetrable home for a thousand birds. In flood meadows, dense, tall grass waves like the sea. It stirs and buzzes the whole world of insects. The trees in the gardens have blossomed. Bright red cherry and dark crimson plum are already flashing between the greens; apples and pears are still green and lurk among the leaves, but in silence they ripen and fill up. One linden is still in bloom and fragrant. In its dense foliage, between its slightly whitening, but fragrant flowers, a slender, invisible chorus is heard. It works with the songs of thousands of cheerful bees on honey, fragrant linden flowers. Come closer to the singing tree: it even smells like honey!

Early flowers have already faded and are preparing seeds, others are still in full bloom. The rye has risen, spiked and is already beginning to turn yellow, agitated like the sea under the pressure of a light wind. Buckwheat is in bloom, and the fields sown with it seem to be covered with a white veil with a pinkish tinge; from them rushes the same pleasant honey smell with which the flowering linden lures bees.

And how many berries, mushrooms! Like a red coral, juicy strawberries bloom in the grass; transparent currant earrings hung on the bushes ... But is it possible to list everything that appears in the summer? One ripens after another, one catches up with another.

And the bird, and the beast, and the insect in the summer expanse! The young birds are already chirping in their nests. But as long as their wings grow, caring parents with a cheerful cry they scurry about in the air, looking for food for their chicks. The little ones have long been sticking their thin, still poorly feathered necks out of the nest and, opening their noses, are waiting for handouts. And there is enough food for the birds: one picks up the grain dropped by an ear, the other itself will pat a ripening cannabis branch or plant a juicy cherry; the third is chasing midges, and they are jostling in heaps in the air. A sharp-sighted hawk, spreading its long wings wide, flies high in the air, vigilantly looking out for a chicken or some other young, inexperienced bird that has strayed from its mother - it envies and, like an arrow, it will launch itself at the poor thing: she cannot escape the greedy claws of a predatory, carnivorous bird. Old geese proudly stretching out their long necks, cackle loudly and lead their little children into the water, fluffy like spring lambs on willows, and yellow like egg yolk.

A furry, multicolored caterpillar worries on its many legs and gnaws on leaves and fruits. There are already a lot of colorful butterflies fluttering. The golden bee works tirelessly on linden, on buckwheat, on fragrant, sweet clover, on a variety of different flowers, getting everywhere what she needs to make her cunning, fragrant combs. The incessant rumble stands in apiaries (bee houses). Soon the bees will become crowded in the hives, and they will begin to swarm: they will be divided into new hardworking kingdoms, of which one will remain at home, and the other will fly off to look for new housing somewhere in a hollow tree. But the beekeeper will intercept the swarm on the road and plant it in a brand new hive prepared for him long ago. Ant has already set up many new underground galleries; the thrifty hostess of the squirrel is already beginning to drag the ripening nuts into her hollow. All freedom, all expanse!

A lot, a lot of work for a peasant in the summer! So he plowed the winter fields [Winter fields are fields sown in autumn; grains hibernate under the snow.] and prepared for the autumn a soft cradle for a grain of bread. Before he had finished plowing, it was already time to mow. Mowers, in white shirts, with shiny and ringing scythes in their hands, go out into the meadows and together mow down the tall, already seeded grass to the root. Sharp braids glisten in the sun and tinkle under the blows of a sand-filled spatula. Women also work together with a rake and dump the already dried hay into piles. The pleasant ringing of braids and friendly, sonorous songs rush everywhere from the meadows. High round haystacks are already being built. The boys wallow in the hay and, pushing each other, burst into ringing laughter; and the shaggy horse, all covered with hay, barely drags a heavy shock on a rope.

No sooner had the hayfield moved away than the harvest began. Rye, the breadwinner of the Russian people, has ripened. The ear, heavy with many grains and yellowed, strongly bent down to the ground; if you still leave it in the field, then the grain will begin to crumble, and God's gift will be lost without use. Throwing scythes, mistaken for sickles. It is fun to watch how, having scattered over the field and bending down to the very ground, the slender rows of reapers are cutting high rye under the root, putting it in beautiful, heavy sheaves. Two weeks of such work will pass, and on the field, where until recently high rye was agitated, cut straw will stick out everywhere. But on a compressed strip, tall, golden heaps of bread will become rows.

No sooner had the rye been harvested than the time had come for golden wheat, barley, and oats; and there, you look, the buckwheat has already turned red and asks for braids. It's time to pull the linen: it just lays down. So the hemp is ready; flocks of sparrows fuss over it, taking out oily grain. It's time to dig and potatoes, and apples have long been falling into the tall grass. Everything sings, everything ripens, everything must be removed in time; even long summer day lacks!

Late in the evening, people return from work. They are tired; but their cheerful, sonorous songs are heard loudly in the evening dawn. In the morning, together with the sun, the peasants will again set to work; and the sun rises much earlier in the summer!

Why is the peasant so cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do? And the job is not easy. It takes a great habit to miss the whole day with a heavy scythe, each time cutting off a good armful of grass, and with the habit, a lot of diligence and patience are still needed. It is not easy to reap under the scorching rays of the sun, bending down to the very ground, drenched in sweat, suffocating from heat and fatigue. Look at the poor peasant woman, how she wipes large drops of sweat from her flushed face with her dirty but honest hand. She doesn’t even have time to feed her child, although he is right there on the field floundering in his cradle, hanging on three stakes stuck in the ground. The screamer's little sister is still a child herself and has recently begun to walk, but even that is not without work: in a dirty, torn shirt, she squats by the cradle and tries to rock her divergent little brother.

But why is the peasant cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do and his work is so difficult? Oh, there are many reasons for this! First, the peasant is not afraid of work: he grew up in labor. Secondly, he knows that summer work feeds him for a whole year and that he must use a bucket when God gives it; otherwise, you can be left without bread. Thirdly, the peasant feels that not only his family, but the whole world feeds on his labors: I, and you, and all the dressed-up gentlemen, although some of them look at the peasant with contempt. He, digging in the ground, feeds everyone with his quiet, not brilliant work, as the roots of a tree feed the proud peaks, dressed in green leaves.

A lot of diligence and patience is needed for peasant work, but a lot of knowledge and experience are also required. Try to press, and you will see that it takes a lot of skill. If someone without habit takes a scythe, then he will not work much with it. Sweeping a good haystack is no easy task either; one must plow skillfully, and in order to sow well - evenly, not thicker and not less often than it should be - then not even every peasant will undertake this. In addition, you need to know when and what to do, how to handle a plow and a harrow [A plow, a harrow are ancient agricultural tools. A plow is for plowing, a harrow is for breaking up clods after plowing.], how, for example, to make hemp from hemp, thread from hemp, and weave canvas from threads ... Oh, a peasant knows and knows how to do a lot, and he can’t do it at all call him an ignoramus, even though he could not read! Learning to read and learning many sciences is much easier than learning everything that a good and experienced peasant should know.

The peasant falls asleep sweetly after hard work, feeling that he has fulfilled his holy duty. Yes, and it is not difficult for him to die: the cornfield cultivated by him and the field still sown by him remain his children, whom he watered, fed, accustomed to work and instead of himself made workers in front of people.

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"Summer, what are you?" Talk to children about summer. Children's themed drawings

Target. Generalization of children's knowledge about summer.

Tasks.

To teach children to answer with a full answer to questions on the content of plot pictures;

Develop auditory attention, fine motor skills fingers, the ability to reflect their impressions in the drawing, the imagination of children;

Introduce children to the signs of summer.

Integration of educational areas.

"Speech development", "Artistic and aesthetic development", " cognitive development”, “Social and communicative development”.

Preliminary work.

Examination of pictures, illustrations in books on summer topics; reading poems about summer.

Material and equipment.

Scene pictures from the series "Summer"; felt-tip pens, album sheets according to the number of children.

The course of the conversation

1. Organizing moment

Guys, I'm going to read you a riddle. Listen to it carefully and tell me what time of year it is?

I am woven from the heat

I carry warmth with me.

I warm the rivers.

"Swim!" - I suggest.

And love for it

You are all of me. I .... (summer)

(children's answers)

That's right, well done. My riddle about summer. Guys, it was not in vain that I started the conversation with a riddle for the summer. Who knows what date is today?

(children's answers)

2. The story of the teacher about the summer.

Summer is one of the four seasons. This time is different high temperature air. The sun is very warm and pleases us with its warmth. Summer is a favorite time not only for children, but also for adults. In summer you can swim, sunbathe, fish, ride a bike and rollerblade. In the forest, with the advent of summer, great changes take place - ants begin to build anthills, spiders weave webs, chicks learn to fly, beautiful flowers bloom, mushrooms and berries grow everywhere. In mid-June, raspberries begin to ripen, which the cubs love very much. And squirrels already in the summer begin to prepare supplies for the winter.

Guys, I know one wonderful poem about summer, listen.

Tell me, children, summer -

What color is it:

green, burgundy,

Or maybe purple?

Summer is very different.

brown, red,

lemon golden,

Like a fluffy cloud

Like a ruddy apple

Like mint for tea spicy.

Cheerful and loud

With boys, with girls.

The rain is cold.

From the sun - very hot,

Happy and bright!

We all need -

It is always a favorite!

Did you like the poem? Also, guys, I know a few folk signs about things that happen in the summer.

The spider strenuously weaves webs - to dry weather.

The frogs croaked - to bad weather.

Swallows fly low - before the rain.

Strong dew - by a clear day.

Rainbow in the evening - good weather.

Rainbow in the morning - to the rain.

3. Children compiling stories about summer (based on plot pictures)

Guys, I told you about summer, and now I want to show a few pictures where the artist painted summer, everything that you can do in summer. Let's see.

(The teacher consistently shows several pictures on a summer theme, gives the children the opportunity to consider each picture)

Guys, now you tell me what summer is like?

(Children's stories about summer)

4. Drawing - "How we imagine summer."

The teacher invites the children to draw the summer as they imagine it. In front of the children, the teacher puts an easel with several pictures with summer scenes, the children draw their impressions and ideas about the summer with felt-tip pens.

5. Bottom line. Exhibition of children's drawings.

The teacher, together with the children, examines the work of the children, evaluates each work, offers to tell what they have drawn.

"Good in summer!" Short story about summer

Good summer! The golden rays of the sun are generously pouring onto the earth. The river runs like a blue ribbon into the distance. The forest is in festive, summer decoration. Flowers - purple, yellow, blue scattered across the clearings, edges.

All sorts of miracles happen in the summer. There is a forest in a green attire, underfoot - a green grass-ant, completely strewn with dew. But what is it? Yesterday there was nothing in this clearing, but today it is completely littered with small, red, as if precious, pebbles. This is a strawberry. Isn't it a miracle?

Puffs, rejoicing in delicious provisions, a hedgehog. Hedgehog - he is omnivorous. Therefore, glorious days have come for him. And for other animals too. All living things rejoice. Birds joyfully flood, they are now in their homeland, they don’t have to rush to distant, warm lands yet, they enjoy warm, sunny days.

Summer is loved by children and adults. For long sunny days and short warm nights. For a rich harvest summer garden. For generous fields full of rye, wheat.

All living things sing and triumph in the summer.

"Summer morning". Short story about summer
Summer is the time when nature wakes up early. Summer mornings are amazing. Light clouds float high in the sky, the air is clean and fresh, it is filled with the aromas of herbs. The forest river throws off a haze of fog. A golden ray of the sun skillfully makes its way through the dense foliage, it illuminates the forest. A nimble dragonfly, moving from place to place, looks attentively, as if looking for something.

It's good to wander through the summer forest. Among the trees above all are pines. The spruces are also not small, but they do not know how to pull their top so high towards the sun. You gently step on the emerald moss. What is there in the forest: mushrooms-berries, mosquitoes-grasshoppers, mountains-slopes. The summer forest is a pantry of nature.

And here is the first meeting - a big, prickly hedgehog. Seeing people, he gets lost, stands on a forest path, probably wondering where he should go next?

"Summer evening". Short story about summer
The summer day is drawing to a close. The sky gradually darkens, the air becomes cooler. It looks like it might rain now, but inclement weather is a rarity in summer. It gets quieter in the forest, but the sounds do not disappear completely. Some animals hunt at night, the dark time of the day for them is the most auspicious time. Their eyesight is poorly developed, but their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. Such animals include, for example, a hedgehog. Sometimes you can hear how the turtledove groans.

Nightingale sings at night. During the day, he also performs a solo part, but among the polyphony it is difficult to hear and make out it. Another thing at night. Someone sings, someone groans. But in general, the forest freezes. Nature rests in order to please everyone again in the morning.

Stories about summer for middle children school age. Stories about the summer of Sergei Aksakov and Konstantin Ushinsky.

Sergey Aksakov

EARLY SUMMER

Spring has passed. The nightingale finished his latest songs, and almost all other songbirds stopped singing. Only the bluethroat still mimicked and misinterpreted the voices and cries of all kinds of birds, and even that one was soon to fall silent. Some larks, hanging somewhere in the sky, invisible to human eyes, scattered their melodic trills from a height, enlivening the sleepy silence of a sultry, silent summer. Yes, the vociferous spring has passed, it's time for carefree fun, songs, love! Gone are the "summer turns", that is, June 12; the sun turned to winter, and summer to heat, as the Russian people say; the business time has come for the birds, the time of vigilant worries, incessant fears, instinctive self-forgetfulness, self-sacrifice, parental love. Children have hatched from songbirds, you need to feed them, then teach them to fly and protect them every minute from dangerous enemies, from birds of prey and animals. There are no more songs, but there is a cry; this is not a song, but a speech: the father and mother are constantly calling out, calling, beckoning their stupid cubs, who answer them with a plaintive, monotonous squeak, open their hungry mouths. Such a change, which took place in some two weeks, during which I did not go out of the city, greatly struck and even saddened me ...

Konstantin Ushinsky

SUMMER

Early summer has the longest days. For about twelve hours the sun does not leave the sky, and the evening dawn has not yet had time to go out in the west, when a whitish stripe appears in the east - a sign of the approaching morning. And the closer to the north, the days in summer are longer and the nights are shorter.

The sun rises high, high in summer, not like in winter: a little higher, and it would be right overhead. Its almost sheer rays are very warm, and by noon they even burn mercilessly. Here comes noon; the sun climbed high on the transparent blue vault of the sky. Only in some places, like light silver lines, cirrus clouds are visible - harbingers of constant good weather, or buckets, as the peasants say. The sun can no longer go higher, and from this point it will begin to descend towards the west. The point from which the sun begins to decline is called noon. Stand facing noon, and the side you are looking at will be south, to the left, where the sun rose from, is east, to the right, where it slopes, is west, and behind you is north, where the sun never shines.

At noon, not only is it impossible to look at the sun itself without a strong, burning pain in the eyes, but it is even difficult to look at the brilliant sky and earth, at everything that is illuminated by the sun. And the sky, and the fields, and the air are filled with hot, bright light, and the eye involuntarily searches for greenery and coolness. It's too warm! Over the resting fields (those on which nothing has been sown this year) light steam flows. This is warm air filled with vapors: flowing like water, it rises from the very heated earth. That is why our clever peasants talk about such fields, that they rest under fallow. Nothing moves on the tree, and the leaves, as if tired by the heat, hung. The birds hid in the wilderness; livestock stop grazing and seek coolness; a person, drenched in sweat and feeling severe exhaustion, leaves work: everything is waiting for the fever to subside. But for bread, for hay, for trees, this heat is necessary.

Early flowers have already faded and are preparing seeds, others are still in full bloom. The rye has risen, spiked and is already beginning to turn yellow, agitating like the sea under the pressure of a light wind. Buckwheat is in bloom, and the fields sown with it seem to be covered with a white veil with a pinkish tinge; the same pleasant honey smell rushes from them, with which the flowering linden lures bees.

And how many berries, mushrooms! Like a red coral, juicy strawberries bloom in the grass; transparent catkins of currant hung on the bushes ... But is it possible to list everything that appears in the summer? One ripens after another, one catches up with another.

And the bird, and the beast, and the insect in the summer expanse! The young birds are already chirping in their nests. But while their wings are still growing, caring parents scurry in the air with a cheerful cry, looking for food for their chicks. The little ones have long been sticking their thin, still poorly feathered necks out of the nest and, opening their noses, are waiting for handouts. And there is enough food for the birds: one picks up the grain dropped by an ear, the other itself pats a ripening cannabis branch or saps a juicy cherry; the third is chasing midges, and they are jostling in heaps in the air. A sharp-sighted hawk, spreading its long wings wide, flies high in the air, vigilantly looking out for a chicken or some other young, inexperienced bird that has strayed from its mother - it will envy and, like an arrow, it will launch itself at the poor thing; she cannot escape the greedy claws of a predatory, carnivorous bird. Old geese, proudly stretching out their long necks, cackle loudly and lead their little children into the water, fluffy like spring lambs on willows, and yellow like egg yolk.

A furry, multicolored caterpillar worries on its many legs and gnaws on leaves and fruits. There are already a lot of colorful butterflies fluttering. The golden bee works tirelessly on linden, on buckwheat, on fragrant, sweet clover, on a variety of different flowers, getting everywhere what she needs to make her cunning, fragrant combs. The incessant rumble stands in apiaries (bee houses). Soon the bees will become crowded in the hives, and they will begin to swarm: to divide into new industrious kingdoms, of which one will remain at home, and the other will fly off to look for new housing somewhere in a hollow tree. But the beekeeper will intercept the swarm on the road and plant it in a brand new hive prepared for him long ago. Ant has already set up many new underground galleries; the thrifty hostess of the squirrel is already beginning to drag the ripening nuts into her hollow. All freedom, all expanse!

A lot, a lot of work for a peasant in the summer! So he plowed the winter fields and prepared for the autumn a soft cradle for a grain of bread. Before he had finished plowing, it was already time to mow. Mowers, in white shirts, with shiny and ringing scythes in their hands, go out into the meadows and together mow down the tall, already seeded grass to the root. Sharp braids glisten in the sun and tinkle under the blows of a sand-filled spatula. Women also work together with a rake and dump the already dried hay into piles. The pleasant ringing of braids and friendly, sonorous songs rush everywhere from the meadows. High round haystacks are already being built.

The boys wallow in the hay and, pushing each other, burst into ringing laughter; and the shaggy horse, all covered with hay, barely drags a heavy shock on a rope.

No sooner had the hayfield moved away than the harvest began. Rye, the breadwinner of the Russian people, has ripened. The ear, heavy with many grains and yellowed, bent strongly to the ground; if you still leave it in the field, then the grain will begin to crumble, and God's gift will be lost without use. Throwing scythes, mistaken for sickles. It is fun to watch how, having scattered over the field and bending down to the very ground, the slender rows of reapers are cutting high rye under the root, putting it in beautiful, heavy sheaves. Two weeks of such work will pass, and on the field, where until recently high rye was agitated, cut straw will stick out everywhere. But on a compressed strip, tall, golden heaps of bread will become rows.

Why is the peasant so cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do? And the work is not easy. It takes a great habit to miss the whole day with a heavy scythe, each time cutting off a good armful of grass, and with the habit, a lot of diligence and patience are still needed. It is not easy to reap under the scorching rays of the sun, bending down to the very ground, drenched in sweat, suffocating from heat and fatigue. Look at the poor peasant woman, how she wipes large drops of sweat from her flushed face with her dirty but honest hand. She does not even have time to feed her child, although he immediately flounders on the field in his cradle, hanging on three stakes stuck in the ground. The screamer's little sister is still a child herself and has recently begun to walk, but even she is not without work: in a dirty, torn shirt, she squats by the cradle and tries to pump her diverging little brother.

But why is the peasant cheerful in the summer, when he has so much work to do and his work is so difficult? Oh, there are many reasons for this! First, the peasant is not afraid of work: he grew up in labor. Secondly, he knows that summer work feeds him for a whole year and that he must use a bucket when God gives it; otherwise, you can be left without bread. Thirdly, the peasant feels that not only his family, but the whole world feeds on his labors: I, and you, and all the dressed-up gentlemen, although some of them look at the peasant with contempt. He, digging in the ground, feeds everyone with his quiet, not brilliant work, like the roots of a tree feed the proud peaks, dressed in green leaves.

A lot of diligence and patience is needed for peasant work, but not a little knowledge and experience are also required. Try to press, and you will see that it takes a lot of skill. If someone without habit takes a scythe, then he will not work much with it. Sweeping a good haystack is no easy task either; one must plow skillfully, but in order to sow well - evenly, not thicker and not less often than it should be - then not even every peasant will undertake this.

In addition, you need to know when and what to do, how to sweeten a plow and a harrow, how, for example, to make hemp from hemp, thread from hemp, and weave canvas from thread ... Oh, a peasant knows and knows how to do a lot, a lot, and he can by no means be called an ignoramus, even though he could not read! Learning to read and learning many sciences is much easier than learning everything that a good and experienced peasant should know.

The peasant falls asleep sweetly after hard work, feeling that he has fulfilled his holy duty. Yes, and it is not difficult for him to die: the cornfield cultivated by him and the field sown by him remain to his children, whom he watered, fed, taught to work and instead of himself made workers in front of people.

Bobby and the ball on the sea

The sea was warm and gentle. The sun played with rays on the blue water. Bobik and Sharik decided that it was necessary to swim in such water. They considered themselves already adult dogs and went swimming alone, without adults.

“We are not just some cats for them,” Sharik said, squinting from the sun, “we can go to the beach ourselves.

“Yes,” Bobby agreed. “It’s cats that don’t swim well, and we dogs are real swimmers.

We decided to take turns swimming. Sharik had in his bag delicious bone, so he did not go swimming, but remained to guard her.

Bobik took the acceleration - and splashed into the sea.

- Oh, good! The sun is shining, the water is sparkling, you can see the bottom! And what is red? Ah, boo! This is for those who can't swim, for the nasty cats and kittens. And I'm a good swimmer! One, two paws, one, two!

“Brown-haired swimmer, come back!” Swim to the shore! - the puppy heard the stern voice of the rescuers.

Who are you talking to, me? the puppy was surprised. The rescue boat picked up speed.

“Oh, something is hurting my paws,” thought Bobik. - I'm tired of something.

Bobik looked back and saw that he had swum away from the shore.

- Oh, how can I get back? - the doggy grumbled. - No power at all! Oh oh!

And when there was no strength left at all, the rescuer Trezor was next to the drowning puppy. Rescuer Trezor pulled out Bobik, trembling with fear, and put him in his rescue boat. They reached the shore very quickly. Out of excitement for his friend, Sharik ate his bone. But Bobik didn't want to eat, he was trembling, covered with a terry towel.

- Well, swimmer? Do you still want to swim? Trezor asked.

- Not! I will never do this again, and tomorrow I will sign up for a swimming course in the pool.

Teddy bear and bees

Somehow the bear was going to feast on honey. He took the largest barrel and went to the old hollow where the wild bees lived.

He put his paw in the hollow, disturbed the bees. The bees flew out of the hollow and followed the bear in a swarm. The bear was scared. Ran off. He ran to the nearest river and plunged into the water.

And the bees circled over the water and flew into their hollow.

The bear was sad: he didn’t try the honey, the bee bit him by the nose.

A bear is walking through the forest, crying, and an old boletus is meeting him.

“Why are you crying so bitterly, bear?” asks the old boletus.

- How can I not cry, poor bear: the bees stung, but they did not give honey.

The old boletus smiled, straightened his hat on his head and said:

- I will help your grief, bear.

You will need bees magic words say: - Bee, don't bite the bee, Better give Misha some honey!

And then you can eat honey, and the bees will not sting you.

Just look, don't take all the honey from the bees, they also need honey.

"And the bees won't bite me?" the bear was surprised.

- If you do everything as I said, and the nose will work, and you will taste the honey!

The bear thanked the old boletus and went to the old hollow for honey.

He did everything as the old borovichok advised. He collected honey in a barrel, walks through the forest, sings a song:

— Oh, and sweet honey.

The old man helped me.

The bear loves honey very much,

Past the honey will not pass!

A little story about a summer forest for a kindergarten. Poems, stories, fairy tales about summer a book on fiction (senior group) on the topic

Summer - Ushinsky K.D.

Summer read

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Other stories by Ushinsky

Forest and stream - Ushinsky K.D.

How a shirt grew in the field - Ushinsky K.D.

Blind horse - Ushinsky K.D.

Swans - Tolstoy L.N.

Pig - Charushin E.I.

Before the first rain - Oseeva V.A.