So autumn has come, a story of 100 words. Short stories about autumn. Dictionary of native nature

Coming of autumn

So autumn has come. The days have become shorter and the nights have become longer. The weather is changeable: sometimes almost summer-like warm, sometimes cool and stormy. The sky is also always different: sometimes clear, blue, sometimes cloudy, gray. And when it is gloomy and there are a lot of clouds, it often rains.

Parks and squares are covered with carpets of fallen leaves. Migratory birds have flown south. The insects hid in secluded places.

Autumn is the time of harvesting and summing up the results of the outgoing year. Once upon a time at this time, rest began for the peasants who worked the land until next spring.

Nowadays, autumn is a time of new beginnings, a period of resuming work and study after the summer holiday. As in the past, at this time houses are prepared for the cold, construction and repair work is completed, and preservation is prepared for the winter.

We should be grateful to autumn for its gifts: ripe vegetables and fruits in gardens and orchards, fragrant mushrooms in forest glades.

In autumn the air is clear and fresh. There is a feeling of vivacity and a surge of strength. I love watching the transformation of nature. I like that the long-awaited coolness comes to replace the summer heat. This is a period of contemplation and reflection, inspiration and nostalgia. A wonderful, but a little sad time...

This text is also suitable for the theme “The Coming of Autumn”.

Autumn

A fun summer has flown by. So autumn has come. It's time to harvest the harvest. Vanya and Fedya are digging potatoes. Vasya collects beets and carrots, and Fenya collects beans. There are a lot of plums in the garden. Vera and Felix collect fruit and send it to the school cafeteria. There everyone is treated to ripe and tasty fruits.

In the forest

Grisha and Kolya went into the forest. They picked mushrooms and berries. They put mushrooms in a basket and berries in a basket. Suddenly thunder struck. The sun has disappeared. Clouds appeared all around. The wind bent the trees towards the ground. It began to rain heavily. The boys went to the forester's house. Soon the forest became quiet. Rain stopped. The sun came out. Grisha and Kolya went home with mushrooms and berries.

Mushrooms

The guys went into the forest to pick mushrooms. Roma found a beautiful boletus under a birch tree. Valya saw a small oil can under the pine tree. Seryozha spotted a huge boletus in the grass. In the grove they collected full baskets of various mushrooms. The guys returned home happy and happy.

Forest in autumn

I. Sokolov-Mikitov

The Russian forest is beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Bright spots of red-yellow maples and aspens stand out against the golden background of yellowed foliage. Slowly circling in the air, light, weightless yellow leaves fall and fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of light cobwebs stretched from tree to tree. Late autumn flowers are still blooming.

The air is transparent and clean. The water in forest ditches and streams is clear. Every pebble at the bottom is visible.

Quiet in the autumn forest. Only fallen leaves rustle underfoot. Sometimes a hazel grouse whistles subtly. And this makes the silence even more audible.

It's easy to breathe in the autumn forest. And I don’t want to leave it for a long time. It’s good in the autumn flowery forest... But something sad, farewell is heard and seen in it.

Nature in autumn

The mysterious princess Autumn will take tired nature into her hands, dress her in golden outfits and drench her in long rains. Autumn will calm the breathless earth, blow away the last leaves with the wind and lay it in the cradle of a long winter sleep.

Autumn day in a birch grove

I was sitting in a birch grove in the fall, around mid-September. From the very morning there was a light rain, replaced at times by warm sunshine; the weather was changeable. The sky was either covered with loose white clouds, then suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then, from behind the parted clouds, azure appeared, clear and gentle...

I sat and looked around and listened. The leaves rustled slightly above my head; by their noise alone one could find out what time of year it was then. It was not the cheerful, laughing trembling of spring, not the soft whispering, not the long chatter of summer, not the timid and cold babbling of late autumn, but barely audible, drowsy chatter. A weak wind pulled slightly over the tops. The interior of the grove, wet from the rain, was constantly changing, depending on whether the sun was shining or covered with clouds; She then lit up all over, as if suddenly everything in her was smiling... then suddenly everything around her turned slightly blue again: the bright colors instantly faded... and stealthily, slyly, the smallest rain began to fall and whisper through the forest.

The foliage on the birches was still almost all green, although noticeably paler; only here and there stood one young girl, all red or all gold...

Not a single bird was heard: everyone took refuge and fell silent; only occasionally did the mocking voice of a tit ring like a steel bell.

An autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when a birch tree, like a fairy-tale tree, all golden, is beautifully drawn in the pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than a summer one, a small aspen grove sparkles through and through, as if it’s fun and easy to stand naked, the frost is still white at the bottom of the valleys, and the fresh wind gently stirs and drives away the fallen, warped leaves - when blue waves joyfully rush along the river, quietly lifting up the scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-hidden by willows, and, dappling the light air, pigeons quickly circle above it...

By the beginning of September the weather suddenly changed dramatically and completely unexpectedly. Quiet and cloudless days immediately arrived, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not even in July. On the dried, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow stubble, an autumn cobweb glistened with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Late fall

Korolenko Vladimir Galaktionovich

Late autumn is coming. The fruit has become heavy; he breaks down and falls to the ground. He dies, but the seed lives in him, and in this seed lives in “possibility” the entire future plant, with its future luxurious foliage and its new fruit. The seed will fall to the ground; and the cold sun is already rising low above the earth, a cold wind is running, cold clouds are rushing... Not only passion, but life itself freezes quietly, imperceptibly... The earth is increasingly emerging from under the greenery with its blackness, cold tones dominate in the sky ... And then the day comes when millions of snowflakes fall on this resigned and quiet, as if widowed earth, and it all becomes smooth, monochromatic and white... White color is the color of cold snow, the color of the highest clouds that float in unattainable cold heavenly heights, - the color of majestic and barren mountain peaks...

Antonov apples

Bunin Ivan Alekseevich

I remember an early fine autumn. August had warm rains at the right time, in the middle of the month. I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it’s as if there is none at all. There is a strong smell of apples everywhere.

By night it becomes very cold and dewy. Having inhaled the rye aroma of new straw and chaff on the threshing floor, you cheerfully walk home for dinner past the garden rampart. Voices in the village or the creaking of gates can be heard unusually clearly in the chilly dawn. It's getting dark. And here’s another smell: there’s a fire in the garden and there’s a strong wafting of fragrant smoke from cherry branches. In the darkness, in the depths of the garden, there is a fabulous picture: as if in a corner of hell, a crimson flame is burning near a hut, surrounded by darkness...

“Vigorous Antonovka - for a fun year.” Village affairs are good if the Antonovka crop is cropped: that means the grain crop is cropped... I remember a fruitful year.

At early dawn, when the roosters were still crowing, you would open a window into a cool garden filled with a purple fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly here and there... You would run to the pond to wash your face. Almost all the small foliage has flown off the coastal vines, and the branches show through in the turquoise sky. The water under the vines became clear, icy, and seemingly heavy. It instantly drives away nighttime laziness.

You enter the house and first of all you will hear the smell of apples, and then others.

Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floors have been empty, and the weather, as usual, has changed dramatically. The wind tore and tore the trees for days on end, and the rains watered them from morning to night.

The liquid blue sky shone coldly and brightly in the north above the heavy lead clouds, and from behind these clouds the ridges of snowy mountains-clouds slowly floated out, the window into the blue sky closed, and the garden became deserted and boring, and the rain began to fall again... at first quietly, carefully, then more and more thickly and finally turned into a downpour with storm and darkness. A long, anxious night was coming...

From such a scolding the garden emerged completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow quiet and resigned. But how beautiful it was when clear weather came again, clear and cold days of early October, the farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees until the first frost. The black garden will shine through the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for winter, warming itself in the sunshine. And the fields are already turning sharply black with arable land and brightly green with bushy winter crops...

You wake up and lie in bed for a long time. There is silence throughout the whole house. Ahead lies a whole day of peace in the already silent, winter-like estate. Slowly get dressed, wander around the garden, find a cold and wet apple accidentally forgotten in the wet leaves, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others.

Dictionary of native nature

It is impossible to list the signs of all seasons. Therefore, I skip summer and move on to autumn, to its first days, when “September” already begins.

The earth is withering, but the “Indian summer” is still ahead with its last bright, but already cold, like the shine of mica, radiance of the sun. From the thick blue of the sky, washed with cool air. With a flying web (“the yarn of the Virgin Mary,” as earnest old women still call it in some places) and a fallen, withered leaf covering the empty waters. Birch groves stand like crowds of beautiful girls in shawls embroidered with gold leaf. “A sad time is a charm of the eyes.”

Then - bad weather, heavy rains, the icy northern wind “Siverko”, plowing through the leaden waters, cold, coldness, pitch-black nights, icy dew, dark dawns.

So everything goes on until the first frost grabs and binds the earth, the first powder falls and the first path is established. And there is already winter with blizzards, blizzards, drifting snow, snowfall, gray frosts, poles in the fields, the creaking of cuttings on the sledges, a gray, snowy sky...

Often in the fall I closely watched the falling leaves in order to catch that imperceptible split second when the leaf separates from the branch and begins to fall to the ground, but for a long time I was not able to do this. I've read in old books about the sound of falling leaves, but I've never heard that sound. If the leaves rustled, it was only on the ground, under a person’s feet. The rustle of leaves in the air seemed as implausible to me as stories about hearing grass sprouting in the spring.

I was, of course, wrong. Time was needed so that the ear, dulled by the grinding of city streets, could rest and catch the very pure and precise sounds of the autumn land.

One late evening I went out into the garden to the well. I placed a dim kerosene bat lantern on the frame and took out some water. Leaves were floating in the bucket. They were everywhere. There was no way to get rid of them anywhere. Brown bread from the bakery was brought with wet leaves stuck to it. The wind threw handfuls of leaves on the table, on the bed, on the floor. on books, and it was difficult to groom along the paths of tallow: you had to walk on the leaves, as if through deep snow. We found leaves in the pockets of our raincoats, in our caps, in our hair - everywhere. We slept on them and were thoroughly saturated with their smell.

There are autumn nights, deaf and silent, when there is no wind over the black wooded edge and only the watchman's beater can be heard from the village outskirts.

It was such a night. The lantern illuminated the well, the old maple under the fence and the nasturtium bush tousled by the wind in the yellowed flowerbed.

I looked at the maple and saw how a red leaf carefully and slowly separated from the branch, shuddered, stopped in the air for an instant and began to fall obliquely at my feet, slightly rustling and swaying. For the first time I heard the rustling of a falling leaf - an unclear sound, like a child’s whisper.

My house

Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich

It’s especially good in the gazebo on quiet autumn nights, when the slow, sheer rain is making a low noise in the sala.

The cool air barely moves the candle tongue. Corner shadows from grape leaves lie on the ceiling of the gazebo. A moth, looking like a lump of gray raw silk, lands on an open book and leaves the finest shiny dust on the page. It smells like rain - a gentle and at the same time pungent smell of moisture, damp garden paths.

At dawn I wake up. The fog rustles in the garden. Leaves are falling in the fog. I pull a bucket of water out of the well. A frog jumps out of the bucket. I douse myself with well water and listen to the shepherd’s horn - he is still singing far away, right at the outskirts.

It's getting light. I take the oars and go to the river. I'm sailing in the fog. The East is turning pink. The smell of smoke from rural stoves can no longer be heard. All that remains is the silence of the water and the thickets of centuries-old willows.

Ahead is a deserted September day. Ahead - lost in this huge world of fragrant foliage, grass, autumn withering, calm waters, clouds, low sky. And I always feel this confusion as happiness.

What types of rains are there?

Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich

(Excerpt from the story “Golden Rose”)

The sun sets in the clouds, smoke falls to the ground, swallows fly low, roosters crow endlessly in the courtyards, clouds stretch across the sky in long, misty strands - all these are signs of rain. And shortly before the rain, although the clouds have not yet gathered, a gentle breath of moisture can be heard. It must be brought from where the rains have already fallen.

But now the first drops begin to drip. The popular word “drip” well conveys the occurrence of rain, when even rare drops leave dark specks on dusty paths and roofs.

Then the rain disperses. It is then that the wonderful cool smell of earth, moistened for the first time with the squeeze, appears. It doesn't last long. It is replaced by the smell of wet grass, especially nettle.

It is characteristic that, no matter what kind of rain it will be, as soon as it begins, it is always called very affectionately - rain. “The rain is gathering”, “the rain is falling”, “the rain is washing the grass”...

How, for example, does spore rain differ from mushroom rain?

The word “sporey” means fast, fast. The stinging rain is pouring vertically and heavily. He always approaches with a rushing noise.

The spore rain on the river is especially good. Each drop of it knocks out a round depression in the water, a small water bowl, jumps up, falls again, and is still visible at the bottom of this water bowl for a few moments before disappearing. The drop shines and looks like pearls.

At the same time, there is a glass ringing all over the river. By the height of this ringing you can guess whether the rain is gaining strength or subsiding.

And a fine mushroom rain sleepily falls from the low clouds. The puddles from this rain are always warm. He doesn’t ring, but whispers something of his own, soporific, and barely noticeably fidgets in the bushes, as if touching first one leaf and then another with a soft paw.

Forest humus and moss absorb this rain slowly and thoroughly. Therefore, after it, mushrooms begin to grow wildly - sticky boletus, yellow chanterelles, boletus mushrooms, ruddy saffron milk caps, honey mushrooms and countless toadstools.

During mushroom rains, the air smells of smoke and the cunning and cautious fish - the roach - takes it well.

People say about blind rain falling in the sun: “The princess is crying.” The sparkling sunny drops of this rain look like large tears. And who should cry such shining tears of grief or joy if not the fairy-tale beauty princess!

You can spend a long time following the play of light during the rain, the variety of sounds - from a measured knock on a plank roof and a liquid ringing in a drainpipe to a continuous, intense roar when the rain pours, as they say, like a wall.

All this is only an insignificant part of what can be said about rain...

Autumn. A wonderful time that poets love to describe. Trees painted in bright colors, a light breeze shaking the branches, as if lulling them

Essays “about Autumn” in Russian

An essay about "Autumn has come"

Autumn has come. The sun still warms almost like summer, trying to give away the last unspent heat. There are still almost no clouds in the blue and clear sky. Only the wind became colder and harsher, reminding us that it was already September. Among the bright greenery, the first harbingers of autumn are noticeable: yellow and red leaves. Soon they will fall from the trees and cover all roads and paths.

Essay on the theme “Autumn”

Autumn is the time of farewell to warmth and the arrival of cold weather. The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting longer, and this is becoming more noticeable with each new day. The sun appears on the horizon later and later, and sets earlier, and day after day it warms less and less. The temperature on the thermometer outside the window slowly drops, and in the evenings it becomes noticeably colder.

It's here Golden autumn. The most beautiful and picturesque time of the year. Autumn loves yellow, red, orange colors, and how she loves to sprinkle everything with gold. You come to a birch grove and you can’t take your eyes off, everything is in gold. There are gold coins hanging on the birch trees instead of leaves, and it seems that with just one breath of wind they will immediately begin to ring.

Essay on the topic “Autumn time”

Autumn- the most beautiful time of the year. No wonder Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin had autumn as his favorite time of the year. One cannot help but admire the beauty that autumn nature gives us. How beautiful it is in the forest in autumn! Sometimes words are simply not enough to describe all this splendor; only an artist can convey the autumn landscape.

Essay on the theme “Golden Autumn”

The fun summer is over. September became the rightful owner. It becomes unusually cold in the morning and at night. Only during the day the sun is still warm, trying to remind us of summer. After exhausting long labor, the fields are resting. The golden gardens have already given their owners their harvest. The cool breeze of autumn can be felt everywhere. Low clouds began to appear more and more often in the gray sky. It's raining lightly.

An essay about "Why I like autumn"

Autumn, autumn is coming...Wonderful and wonderful time. The sun no longer burns mercilessly from morning to evening, as in summer, and does not yet hide behind dense gray clouds, as it will in winter. It generously and gently warms, caressing every cell, it seems to ring in the sky with a million bells and scatters its tenderness and warmth. Go, people and animals, blades of grass and flowers, birds and trees, catch its lovely rays, bathe in them, rejoice, smile.

An essay about "Autumn" for grades 2, 3, 4

Option 1. Autumn has come. The leaves on the trees turned yellow. Soon they will begin to fall to the ground.
Yesterday my mother and I walked through the autumn park. It's sunny and quiet there. The birds don't sing anymore. They are preparing to fly to warmer climes.

Option 2. On the first day of autumn we went to school. The days are fine. Every day I return from school and enjoy the autumn sun.
The autumn rains will come soon. It will get cold. Now the foliage on the trees is golden. But soon it will wither and fall off.

An essay about "Autumn in Odessa"

I live in Odessa. This is a very cozy and nice city. Here it has reached us autumn. The trees gradually began to dress in yellow, orange and red clothes.

Our autumn is very warm, but this year it is even warmer than before. You can still swim in the sea. The sun shines not so intensely, but still quite often. I was always surprised that in the fall we sometimes don’t even need to wear jackets and coats, while in all other cities to the north everyone bundles up, feeling winter is approaching. It’s very nice to walk among the trees now, when everything around is so colorful and bright. I love my city, it is like a whole world for me in which I can enjoy life. Autumn gives Odessa even greater grace and beauty. We can say that autumn is coming to my city.

Did not you find what you were looking for? here's another

Autumn " style="float:left;padding:15px 20px 0 0">