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Осень
Осень – прекрасная пора. Буквально за неделю невидимый художник залил яркими осенними красками шевелюры кленов, осин, берез... Золотые, багряные, розовые, желто-зеленые — куда ни глянь, всюду тебя встречает трепещущий калейдоскоп красок! И вот, словно дождавшись желанного разрешения, веселый ветер проказливым щенком набрасывается на все это разноцветное великолепие. Он треплет макушки деревьев, радостно разнося по аллеям парков и дворам охапки сухих листьев. И они кружатся, вальсируют, большие и маленькие, круглые и овальные, засыпая улицы, шурша под ногами. Вскоре деревья лишатся своего пышного убранства и откроют свои ветви холодным дождям и вьюгам.
Особенно радостны почему-то птицы. Кто-то собирается в дорогу, кто-то, отъевшись за лето, готовится к зиме, а молодые выводки необычайно активны, порхают, дерутся. Они еще не знают, что такое зима и не ждут от нее козней.
Еще летают пчелы. Их мало, а полет их тяжел и благостен. Одинокая бабочка покачивается на тяжелом цветке репейника. Она может так долго сидеть, сложив крылья, что, кажется, не взлетит уже никогда.
Трава пожелтела и наклонилась к земле, только маленькие бледно-красные звездочки вереска радуют глаз. Высоко в небе делают прощальный круг стаи журавлей. Они летят на юг и печально курлычут, напоминая в последний раз, что пришла осень.
И небо — пронзительно голубое, высокое, с уходящим ввысь солнцем. Эта праздничная осенняя акварель пробудет недолго, затем краски сменятся на более холодные тона, набухнут и станут угрюмыми. А пока тепло, светло, все доживает, торопится, и грустно, что тепло не заберешь в зиму.
Autumn
An autumn is a wonderful pore. Literally for a week an invisible artist inundated the bright autumn paints of head of hear of maples, aspens, birchs.. Gold, crimson, pink, yellow-green - where not glance, everywhere you are met by the trembling kaleidoscope of paints! And, as if waiting till desirable permission, merry wind attacks a mischievous puppy on all of it varicoloured splendour. He dishevels the tops of trees, gladly carrying on the alleys of parks and courts of armful of dry leaves. And they spin, waltz, large and little, round and oval, засыпая streets, rustling under feet. Soon trees will be deprived the magnificent maid and will open the branches to the cold rains and snow-storms.
Birds are especially glad for some reason. Someone going to the road, someone, putting on weight from good food for a summer, prepares to the winter, and young broods are extraordinarily active, flitter, fight. They do
not yet know, what the winter and does not wait intrigues from her.
Bees fly yet. Them small, and flight of them is heavy and lovely. A be single butterfly rocks on a heavy flower
ахах) ) а не нагло всю домашку на другого сваливать ?
Autumn
The autumn – fine is time. Literally for a week the invisible artist has filled in with bright autumn paints of a head of hear of maples, aspens, birches... Gold, crimson, pink, flavovirent — where look, everywhere you are met with a trembling kaleidoscope of paints! And here, as if having waited the desired sanction, the cheerful wind проказливым the puppy snatches on all this multi-coloured magnificence. It pulls out tops of trees, joyfully carrying on avenues of parks and court yard of an armful of dry leaves. And they are turned, waltz, greater and small, round and oval, falling asleep streets, rustling under legs. Soon trees will lose the magnificent furniture and will open the branches to cold rains and blizzards.
Birds are especially joyful for some reason. Someone gets ready for a trip, someone, отъевшись for a summer, prepares for winter, and young выводки are extraordinary active, flit, fight. They yet do not know, that such winter and do not wait from it for intrigues.
Still bees fly. It is not enough of them, and their flight is heavy and kind. The lonely butterfly rocks on a heavy flower of a burdock. It can so long to sit, having combined wings, that, apparently, will not fly up already never.
The grass has turned yellow and has bent to the ground, only small is pale-red asterisks of a heather please an eye. Highly in the sky do a farewell circle of flight of cranes. They fly on the south and is sad cry, reminding last time, that the autumn has come.
And the sky — is shrill blue, high, with the sun leaving up. This celebratory autumn water color will stay not for long, then paints will be replaced with colder of tone, will bulk up and become gloomy. For now warmly, светло, all lives, hurries up, and is sad, that warmly will not take away at winter.
Autumn
Fall - a great time. Just a week invisible artist filled with bright autumn colors shag maples, aspens, birches ...Gold, purple, pink, yellow and green - everywhere you look, everywhere you are met by flickering kaleidoscope of colors! And then, as if waiting for the desired resolution, cheerful breeze impish puppy pounces on all this colorful splendor. He ruffled the tops of trees, spreading the joy through the alleys of parks and yards armfuls of dried leaves. And they whirl, waltz, big and small, round and oval, sleeping streets, rustling underfoot. Soon the trees will lose their sumptuous luxury and will open their branches, and a cold rain storm.
Especially glad for some reason the birds. Someone going on the road, someone, overfed during the summer, preparing for winter, and young broods unusually active, fluttering, fighting. They do not yet know what the winter and do not expect from her wiles.
Still flying bee. They are small, and their flight is heavy and goodness. Lonely butterfly sways on a heavy flower thistles. She can sit for so long, folded wings, that does not seem to fly has never.
The grass turned yellow and bent to the ground, only small pale red star heather pleasing to the eye. High in the sky make the farewell circle flock of cranes. They fly south, and sadly kurlychut, recalling the last time that autumn came.
And the sky - a piercing blue, high, with outgoing up the sun. This festive autumn watercolor stay long, then the paint will be replaced by a cold tone, swell and become moody. In the meantime, heat, light, all die in a hurry, and sadly, that heat is not zaberesh in winter.
