Beautiful descriptions of nature. Composition on the theme of a summer evening Description of an evening in nature
An essay about " Summer evening“
In the summer, my parents and I often go to nature, where we have picnics. And this time we decided to spend the night in the forest, it was a very exciting adventure. It was then that I realized how beautiful and amazing an ordinary summer evening.
The hot summer sun slowly descends behind the high tops of forest trees, and the air is filled with sounds unusual for the city. In the ringing forest silence, the trills of birds sounded louder, the chirping of grasshoppers was supplemented by the singing of crickets. Flowers decorating a large forest glade close their buds and hide in the shade of foliage. The sun is no longer visible at all, and the long shadows of the trees create bizarre patterns on the ground, similar to an unusual ornament. After the heat of the day, the summer evening brings the long-awaited freshness, but the warm air does not want to cool down quickly.
The glade adjoins directly to the shore of a forest lake, the water of which seems to be completely dark from the shadow of the trees surrounding it. You can see how crimson stains appear on a smooth surface, this setting sun is reflected in a natural mirror. The air slowly cools down and forest smells are even more pronounced in it, especially the smell of water. Steam rises from the cooling lake, and in this haze the forest turns into a fairy-tale kingdom where queen nature rules. The frog's first croaking is picked up by her friends in a discordant chorus, and now nothing can be heard in the neighborhood from the standing rumble. Just as it started, this noise stops abruptly, it seems that the sound of nature sounds was simply turned off on the included recording. A deafening silence hangs immediately over the clearing, into which various sounds gradually creep in.
Summer evening under the open sky
In the bright, evening sky, you can see the first stars. As soon as the last rays of the sun disappear behind the horizon, the sky explodes with a bright gunpowder of starlight. If you look at it for a long time, the cold lights of the stars will stand before your eyes for a long time. Mysterious rustlings are heard from the forest, dying away at the sounds of the hooting of owls. From the side of the lake, you can hear rare splashes of water, and one can only guess who publishes them.
From a diluted fire it breathes warmth, the crackling of dry branches lulls. Bright flames illuminate the side wall of the tent, and the faces of parents who tell interesting stories and anecdotes. I like to listen to them and look at the fire, watch the rising sparks that seem to turn into a star. The fire goes out, and the clearing is flooded with cold, bright moonlight, everything can be seen very well and the stars do not stop shining in the night sky.
I remember very well that summer evening in the forest, next to a clear lake. It is good that there are still places where tourists do not get and you can admire nature untouched by man.
Music for happiness - gentle guitar
The first chord is light, a breath of wind, fingers barely touch the strings. A vanishingly quiet sound, E minor, simpler and there is nothing ...
The first snowflake is light, translucent, carried by an almost imperceptible wind. She is a harbinger of snowfall, a scout who first descended to the ground ...
The second chord - the fingers of the left hand are deftly rearranged, the right hand confidently and gently leads along the strings. Down, down, up is simple and gives the simplest sound. Not a blizzard or a storm is being prepared - just a snowfall. There can be nothing complicated in it. Snowflakes begin to fly more often - the advanced detachments of the main forces, sparkling ice stars.
Then the chords replace each other more viscous and affectionately, so that the ear almost does not notice the transition from one sound to another. A transition that always sounds harsh. Instead of a fight - bust. Eight. The intro is played and even if it's not an instrumental that sounds triumphant and joyful during a summer downpour or viscous and bewitching in a blizzard, even if it's just chords put together, the music surprisingly suits the snow outside the window, the white butterflies of winter, the icy tiny stars that all dance, dance their dance in the night sky...
Singing is woven into the music - quiet, the words are indistinguishable, elude perception, interfere with the snowfall and the measured, natural beating of the heart. A clear rhythm and calm power sound in them. There is no end to the song, it just gently intertwines with the dance of snowflakes and quietly leaves, leaving the sky and snow alone...
Cold and darkness hide sounds and movements, reconcile the city with winter...
And the Lord of the Snowfall, having played his part on one of the roofs, gently puts away his guitar, domineering over the elements, into the case. There is snow on his shoulders and on his hair, red cheerful sparks flash and go out - snowflakes reflect the light of distant lights. There is light in the windows of the house opposite. There are people who do not know how to weave the lace of the elements...
The staircase is the usual staircase of a nine-story building. Doors, an elevator always occupied by someone, the dim light of a light bulb on the landing ... The Lord of Snowfall walks, holding his guitar, quietly and slowly stepping up the stairs. From the ninth floor to the first, carefully so as not to disturb the warm feeling of relaxed, trusting happiness that comes every time after a game is completed...
And the habitually evil question of the mother who opened the door:
When will you stop playing your games and finally start thinking?
It hits an open soul like a knife. The soft snowy wings given by the fulfillment of the present are breaking, and only misunderstanding and resentment remain.
Why does she hit the sickest person? For what?..
At night, a wild wind blew through the city, mixed with snow. He broke branches of trees, tore wires, covered roads ...
It was the Snowfall Lord's guitar again.
A summer evening is like a calm sea after a wave. As a rule, a summer day consists of many bright situations and even if nothing happens, then such a day is characterized by a rich experience. We see a lot of bright colors, birds chirp in the morning, various living creatures begin to move.
Therefore, a summer evening is like a safe harbor, where the ship of your feelings arrives after a rich and even a little stressful voyage. In the summer evening there is relaxation and pleasant peace, it stays with you for many years, it is saturated with warmth and kindness. You feel this especially in the suburbs, where the various phases of nature are much more noticeable, and when the summer evening begins, nature sort of settles down to rest after a hard and fulfilling day.
It is so nice and calm to stay in the space of a summer evening. In fact, it does not matter where exactly to be on such an evening: on the shore of a reservoir and watch the water striders or listen to the light hum of the river; in a water meadow, looking into a fire or listening to cicadas; walk through the forest and fields; watch the sunset in a comfortable armchair or on a folding bed; wander along the road to meet friends. There is always a feeling of warmth, and it's not just about the warmth that comes from the temperature, it's about the subtle feeling of warmth that the earth and space gives all day long, warmed by the caring sun.
These summer evenings are almost always filled with their own special music and it's so nice when nothing interferes with listening. It is best when there is an opportunity to enjoy the silence and various rare sounds that can be heard from fields and trees. Summer music creates its own sensations, which are also remembered for many years.
In my opinion, the best addition to such natural music may be a flute or other similar instrument. Something that conveys high tones and has a high melody. A simple pipe will perfectly complement the atmosphere of a summer evening.
Unlike the city, there is no closeness in the suburbs and the evening is easily and calmly tolerated. You do not need to look for opportunities to stay somewhere cool, drink a refreshing drink. A summer evening in nature, as it were, feeds itself with various delicious drinks, the juices of these joyful moments, and it seems as if only peace always reigns on earth, and the world is as harmonious as it can only be imagined and quiet joy lasts forever.
Essay 2
A summer evening is always gentle and pleasant, it is best manifested during the sunset itself, when a warm heavenly body, as it were, covers the earth with a blanket of darkness, which does not absorb, but wraps up as if warmly. In the sunset glow, there is often some kind of sadness, a special sunset sadness. In Egyptian mythology, it was expressed as the regular death of Osiris, who is eternally reborn.
Only in summer this sadness is felt in a special way, it is lighter, as it is shrouded in summer itself - the most life-affirming (except for spring) period of the year, when you want to do so much, when the prospects seem limitless like fields flooded with juicy herbs. This is the charm of a summer evening in the suburbs, it inspires hope, it creates a feeling of some kind of eternity and joyful eternity.
I especially like the summer evening stuffiness, which probably changes the density and humidity of the air and creates the feeling of a domed sky. Sometimes on a summer evening, when it gets quite dark, the sky feels not even like a dome, but like a ceiling, although quite high. You feel in such a cozy palace or just a big warm house.
These thoughts and feelings unite and this comfort creates closeness between people, increases empathy. After all, it is much more pleasant for everyone to truly feel on a warm summer evening that they are simply part of a large house, cozy and common, in which everything is so calm and pleasant. Sometimes you even want to ask someone: “Don’t you feel it, don’t you feel like a warm and cozy dome of water, as if in a tidy house?”
Probably, others also feel the same, and then, in an invisible way in the hearts of many people, pleasant fires-candles of this tender and warm feeling, this bright feeling, are lit. This inner fire really, like a soft candle, sanctifies the space, and many, many of these candles burn in the house on an evening summer or summer evening. It no longer matters, it is not essential how to describe these sensations in words, only they themselves remain.
A summer evening creates excellent conditions for a contemplative end of the day. Let everyone at least try to feel these pleasant moments for themselves.
Popov N.V. The joy of a teacher. Phenological observations // Donskoy Vremennik. Year 2011. pp. 60-65. URL: http://www..aspx?art_id=715
PHENOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
literary sketches
Description of nature by seasons
Description of spring - March
It was March 1969. When the fine spring days came, I impatiently walked along the still viscous road to the country grove.
The grove greeted me with the melodious murmur of a stream, rapidly rushing towards a ravine lost in the thick of bushes and trees. The muddy stream, crashing into the polluted blockages of snow, exposed its lower clean layers, and in this snow-white rim it began to look surprisingly elegant.
In the depths of the grove, an open glade is full of joyful spring bustle. Wherever you look - everywhere on the melted snow in the rays of the bright sun silvery streams glisten rhythmically. There are so many of them that it seems as if the earth itself moved towards them. The mirror-like surface of puddles generously scattered across the clearing shines festively. In some places, tiny islands of thawed black earth triumphantly rise above the melted snow.
And around the dark wall stands a silent forest. And in this gloomy frame, the cheerful glade sparkled even brighter.
See even more descriptions of March by tag#March
Description of spring - April
In the first half of April, dogwood is one of the first among the trees to bloom. All strewn with bouquets of golden yellow flowers, it burns like a night fire against the background of a dark, still bare garden. If at this time of spring from the window of a running train you see a bright yellow tree in a flashing garden, know that this is a dogwood blossom. Much more modest is the outfit of birch bark and elm that bloom a little later. Their thin branches with tufts of reddish anthers attract little attention of passers-by. And only hundreds of bees circling around the branches signal the height of flowering. The ash-leaved maple will soon bloom. Scattering branches and twigs far to the sides, he densely hung on them a green fringe of long pre-long stamens with brown anthers. Unsightly and this outfit, but the bees and cling to him. And not every beauty of gardens attracts as many winged admirers as an old maple tree. You walk past a buzzing tree and rejoice - spring!
For more descriptions of April, see the tag#April
Description of spring - May
May has come. And the calm watercolor colors of April were replaced by juicy, screaming strokes of the height of spring. This is the hottest time of the year for a phenologist, especially in hot, dry springs, when trees, shrubs, grass seem to stray from the age-old rhythm of the spring carnival and begin to dress randomly and hastily in expensive holiday clothes.
Golden currants are still burning furiously on the boulevards, the incessant rumble of bees is still standing over the jubilant cherries, and the fragrant bird cherry buds are just beginning to open, as a white flame on impatient pears shoots high into the sky. The fire immediately spread to the neighboring apple trees and they instantly flared up with a pale pink glow.
The hot dry wind blown the fire of spring even more strongly and it was as if a shower of flowers poured down on the ground. The horse chestnut, roughly pushing aside the beautiful lilac, arrogantly stepped forward with festive torches blazing brightly among the dark foliage. Stunned by unheard-of impudence, the lilac managed only two days later to restore its shattered prestige, throwing thousands of luxurious white, cream, purple, purple bouquets to the envy of its neighbors.
For more descriptions of May, see the tag#May
Description of summer - June
At the beginning of June, the so-called “early summer” begins - the most intense, but also the most joyful, like a noisy holiday, time of the year, when concern for the growing offspring dominates all wildlife.
From morning to evening, the bird choir does not stop in the steppe, groves and gardens. Thousands of discordant singers take part in it, whistling, chirping, chirping, croaking, squealing and squeaking in every way. The air rings from loud and quiet, joyful and dreary, melodic and harsh sounds. Birds sing standing, sitting and flying, during rest and during the hottest time of their working day. The bird world is seized with such joyful excitement that the songs themselves break free.
There is a swallow from early morning until late evening tirelessly cuts through the air in pursuit of midges for insatiable children. Here, it would seem, there is no time for songs. And yet the swallow, storming the sky, chirps something cheerful and carefree.
Remember how black swifts squeal with delight on the fly. Yes, what to say! It is enough to listen at this time on the expanse of the wall to the sonorous trills of larks full of happiness in order to feel the enthusiastic thrill of the steppe that engulfed it from edge to edge.
The bird choir is accompanied, as best they can, by field crickets, grasshoppers, bumblebees, bees, mosquitoes and mosquitoes, flies and flies and other countless chirping and buzzing insects.
And at night, from dawn to dusk, passionate serenades of nightingales rumble in the groves and, like an ugly echo, hundreds of frogs on the river respond to them. Having settled down in rows along the water's edge, they jealously try to shout down each other.
But this feast of nature would not have been a feast if plants had not taken the most ardent part in it. They made every effort to decorate the land as beautifully as possible. Thousands fled across the fields and meadows and turned into emerald carpets with bizarre patterns from bright rims of all colors of the palette.
The air is filled with the aroma of wall herbs. White ships-clouds float high in the blue sky. The steppe feasts.
See even more descriptions of June by tag#June
Description of summer - July, August
The jubilant early summer quickly passes, and by the end of June the steppe begins to burn out. The most terrible months for herbs are coming - July, August. The sultry sun without fire and smoke almost completely incinerated the steppe vegetation. From the steppe breathed a lifeless semi-desert. Not a single encouraging green speck is visible.
But at the scorched steppe there are still preserved in some places the corners, full of unusual beauty. Over there, on a cliff, descending in steps to the river valley, some mysterious spots are whitening. But it's hard to guess what it is. Closer, closer, and a wonderful pale pink clearing opens up in front of you, completely overgrown with low bushes of yurei (heads). Widely stretched on the ledge of the slope, it smoothly falls to the valley. The incessant buzz of bees stands over thousands of pale pink bushes.
The glade is not large, but it stands out so strikingly and beautifully against the background of faded herbs that it absorbs all your attention and therefore seems huge and especially beautiful. The impression is that you are standing in the middle of a luxurious mountain meadow.
For more summer descriptions, see the tag#Summer
Description of autumn - October
October came, and with it the golden autumn, the autumn that asks for the artist's canvas, Levitan's - affectionate, thoughtfully sad, indescribably beautiful.
Autumn does not like the flashy colors of a stormy spring, the blinding daring sun, the furiously roaring thunderstorm. Autumn is all in subtle colors - soft, gentle, charming. She listens with quiet sadness to the rustle of falling leaves, the silence of the forest going to rest, the farewell cries of cranes in the high sky.
Shrubs give a lot of color to autumn landscapes. Different in appearance, autumn color and brightness, they fill the undergrowth and forest edges in a motley crowd. The gentle blush of currants and scarlet lashes of wild grapes, orange-red hawthorn and crimson svidina, flaming skumpia and blood-red barberry, skillfully woven into the compositions of autumn paintings, enrich them with a unique play of colors on their leaves.
On the edge of the forest stands a slender ash tree in a beautiful cloak of countless elusive golden-greenish halftones, radiating streams of calm light. Gold-plated openwork leaves are sharply minted on the dark bark of the trunk and branches, then, hanging in the still air, they seem translucent, somehow fiery and fabulous.
The high svidina, all engulfed by the autumn fire, having moved close to the ash tree, created an incomparable play of colors - gold and crimson. On the other side of the forest beauty, a short cotoneaster has skillfully decorated its leaves with pink, red and orange tones and halftones and scattered them in intricate patterns on thin branches.
This forest picture in kind is so good that, admiring it, you feel in your soul a feeling of wonderful music. Only on these unforgettable days of the year can one observe in nature such an extraordinary richness and harmony of colors, such a rich tonality, such subtle beauty penetrating all of nature, that not visiting a forest or a grove at this time means losing something very valuable and dear.
For more descriptions of autumn, see the tag#Autumn
Beautiful, fabulous description of nature in winter
No time of the year can compare in beauty and splendor with snow-white elegant winter: neither bright, cheerful, jubilant spring, nor summer, unhurried and dusty, nor enchanting autumn in farewell attire.
Snow fell, and such a fabulously wonderful world suddenly appeared outside the window, so much captivating beauty, poetry opened up in the closely looked street boulevards, squares and parks that it was impossible to sit in the room. I was irresistibly drawn to perceive with my own eyes the immense milky-white dome of the sky, and the myriads of playful snowflakes falling from the heights, and the newly revived trees and shrubs, and all the transformed nature.
Winter has no other brush than white. But look at the inimitable skill with which she wields this brush. Winter does not just sweep away the autumn slush or the ugly traces of a broken thaw. No, she, skillfully using the play of chiaroscuro, creates picturesque corners of the winter landscape everywhere, gives everything an unusual, artistic look.
In winter, elegant attire, one cannot recognize either a decrepit gnarled apricot, or a rickety dilapidated fence, or an ugly heap of garbage. In the place of a faceless lilac bush, such a wonderful creation of the mistress of winter suddenly appeared that you involuntarily slow down your steps in admiration for it. And really, you can’t immediately tell when the lilac is more charming - in May or now, in winter. Even yesterday, the boulevards, drearily wet in the rain, today, at the whim of winter, have become a festive decoration.
But the sorceress of winter, in addition to magical snowflakes, has one more invincible weapon in store for conquering human hearts - precious pearls of hoarfrost.
Billions of needles of hoarfrost turned modest squares into fabulous radiant halls that suddenly appeared at the crossroads of streets. In the hitherto gloomy blackened bare forests, the trees, throwing on fragile pearl clothes, stand like brides in wedding dresses. The restless wind, having flown on them, froze with delight on the spot.
Nothing moves in the air. Silence and silence. The Kingdom of the Fairytale Snow Maiden.
The days of February are running. And now it's March again. And again, seasonal pictures of nature that we have seen dozens of times before pass before our eyes. Boring? But nature does not stamp its creations according to the eternal pattern. One spring is never a copy of another, just like the rest of the seasons. This is the beauty of nature and the secret of its enchanting power.
The charm of pictures of nature is similar to the charm of immortal works of art: no matter how much we admire them, no matter how much we revel in their melodies, they do not lose their inspiring power.
The beauty of nature develops in us a noble sense of beauty, awakens creative imagination, without which a person is a soulless machine.
For more descriptions of winter, see the tag#Winter
Nature Conservation and School Local History
It remains to say a little about the protection of nature. Faithful guardian of nature - disinterested love for her. Schoolchildren's care for the school garden, floriculture, experimental work at school sites, at young naturalist stations - all this is not enough to instill in schoolchildren a loving, caring attitude towards nature, their native steppe, and the forest. In all such pursuits, there is a certain mercenary beginning. A schoolboy takes care of “his” tree with love and immediately breaks “someone else's”. The schoolgirl admires the richness of forms and colors of the gladioli and peonies she breeds and does not notice the wonderful clearings in nature.
In the struggle for the preservation of native nature, school local history can be one of the most effective measures. A teacher who has become close to nature has a disinterested, caring attitude towards it, unfeigned, without a shadow of any sentimentality, a manifestation of joyful emotions caused by the colors of many-sided nature, native landscapes, will involuntarily slip and be passed on to schoolchildren on excursions, hikes and other similar cases. This will strengthen the ranks of faithful defenders of nature.
Finishing my story, I will note that I am not yet a decrepit, dissatisfied grumbler with everything. To the best of my ability, I continue to conduct phenological observations, I do not interrupt my scientific connection with the Phenocenter (Leningrad), I try to follow the methodological literature, I give feedback on works sent occasionally, I write. In a word, I have not yet climbed onto a warm stove.
school phenology
I also invested a lot of time and effort in school phenology. Phenological observations provide less food for the creative search of the teacher than innovative work with visual aids, but even they can add a lot of life-giving element to the work of the teacher.
In 1918, in connection with the collection of a herbarium, I began to conduct fragmentary phenological observations on plants and some animals. Having obtained some literature on phenology, I ordered my observations and continued them with some success.
In the spring of 1922, students of grades 5-6 of the railway school were involved in phenological observations by me. I made simple devices - a tenemeter and a goniometer, with the help of which the schoolchildren observed the apparent movement of the sun. A year later, our first wall charts appeared with a colorful image of the observed phenolic objects, the spring course of the sun and temperature. There were no methodological guidelines on school phenology in the literature of that time, and, of course, my undertaking had blunders and failures. And yet it was an interesting, exciting job. Phenological observations often posed questions for me, for the solution of which it was necessary to look sharply and thoughtfully at the phenomena of nature, to rummage through books, and then small secrets of nature were revealed.
Nothing escaped the keen eyes of schoolchildren either in early spring or in winter. So, on December 12, they noticed frogs swimming under the ice, and on December 28, a toad jumping in the yard. This was interesting news not only for schoolchildren, but, frankly, for me as well. And so our first wall table appeared in the classroom with the April observations. What only was not shown on it! Under the graph of the course of the sun and the weather, drawn by me, in the order of the onset of phenomena, the following were depicted: the beginning of a molt in a cow, a horse, a dog, a cat, the passage of birds, the arrival of swallows, the appearance of lizards, frogs, butterflies, the flowering of grasses and trees, and others. The drawings were made by students and pasted on old, scribbled paper, which we had obtained with difficulty from the office of the railway station. The table was far from shining in appearance, but in terms of content it was interesting and useful in terms of teaching. We were proud of her.
Soon, having established contact with the research institute of the Central Bureau of Local Lore (CBK), I began to send him summaries of my phenomenal observations. The realization that your observations are used in the research work of the CBC and that you thereby participate in them stimulated these studies.
The CBC, for its part, supported my undertakings at school, supplying current literature on phenology.
When the first All-Russian Conference of Phenologists was convened in Moscow in 1937, the TsBK invited me. The meeting was very small, and I was the only representative of the schools.
Starting with ingenuous observations of the course of seasonal natural phenomena, I began to gradually turn from a simple observer into an inquisitive local historian-phenologist. At one time, while working at the Novocherkassk Museum, on behalf of the museum I sent out phenological questionnaires throughout the Azov-Chernomorsky Territory, repeatedly spoke at regional and city conferences of teachers with reports on the formulation and significance of school phenological observations, and was published in regional and local newspapers. My reports on phenology at the All-Union Geographical Congress in Moscow (1955) and at the All-Union Congress of Phenologists in Leningrad (1957) received a positive response in the central press.
From my many years of practice in school phenology, I well remember the spring of 1952, which I met in the distant village of Meshkovskaya, lost in the Upper Don steppes. In this village, I lived with my sick wife, who needed the healing steppe air, for about a year. Having got a job as a teacher at the age of ten, in order to organize phenological observations, I began to explore local opportunities for these classes. According to schoolchildren and local residents, in places around the village, the remains of virgin steppes still untouched by the plow have been preserved, and the beams are overgrown with shrubs, trees and herbs.
The local steppes in terms of species composition of plants differed from the steppes of the Lower Don known to me. For a phenologist, all this was extremely tempting, and I looked forward to the arrival of spring.
As always, schoolchildren of grades 6-10 were involved in phenological observations, living both in the village itself and in the surrounding farms, that is, 5-10 kilometers from it, which significantly expanded the area of our phenological observations.
In early spring, the school hung in a conspicuous place a large wall chart depicting a still bare “phenological tree”, on which seasonal phenomena were noted during the course of spring. A small board with three shelves was placed next to the table, on which there were bottles of water to display living plants.
And now, on the table, images of the first heralds of spring appeared: starlings, wild ducks, geese, and a few days later, to my amazement, bustards (?!). In the steppes of the Lower Don, there was no trace of this giant bird a long time ago. So our table gradually turned into a colorful “phenological tree”, and live flowering plants with labels filled all the shelves. The table and the plants on display attracted everyone's attention. During the spring in front of students and teachers about 130 species of plants. A small reference herbarium was compiled from them.
But this is only one side of the matter, so to speak, service. The other consisted in the personal experiences of the teacher-phenologist. It is impossible to forget the aesthetic pleasure that I experienced at the sight of the lovely woods, in a great number of doves under the still sleeping trees in the ravine forest. I was alone, and nothing prevented me from perceiving the subtle beauty of nature. I had many such joyful encounters.
I described my experience at the Meshkovskaya school in the journal Natural History at School (1956, No. 2). In the same year, the drawing of my Meshkovsky "phenological tree" was placed in the Great Soviet Encyclopedia (Vol. 44. P. 602).
Phenology
(Retiree)
After I retired, I devoted myself entirely to phenology. Based on his long-term (1934-1950) observations, he compiled a calendar of nature for Novocherkassk (The calendar of nature presents a list of seasonal natural phenomena arranged in chronological order indicating the average long-term dates of their onset at this point. N. P.) and its environs.
I subjected my phenomaterials to mathematical processing in order to find out their practical suitability in the local economy. I tried to find signaling devices among flowering plants for the best dates for various agricultural work. It was research and painstaking work. Armed with Pomorsky's "Variational Statistics" manual, I sat down to tedious calculations. Since the results of the analyzes turned out to be encouraging in general, I tried not only to find agricultural signaling devices among flowering plants, but also to predict the time of their flowering, which significantly increased the practical significance of the proposed method. Hundreds of analyzes I have done have confirmed the correctness of the theoretical conclusions. It remains to put the theory into practice. But this was the work of the collective farm agronomists.
Throughout my long work on the issues of agricultural phenosignal devices, I kept a business relationship with the phenosector of the Geographical Society (Leningrad). On this topic, I repeatedly made presentations at meetings of specialists in pest control in Rostov, at the All-Union Congress of Phenologists in Leningrad (1957). My article "Phenosignalizers in Plant Protection" was published in the journal Plant Protection (Moscow, 1960). Rostizdat in 1961 published my small work "Signals of Nature".
As an ardent popularizer of phenological observations among the general population, for my many years of activity in this field, especially after retirement, I made many reports, messages, lectures, conversations, for which fresh hands made at least a hundred wall tables and as many more small ones.
This ebullient period of my phenological activity always evokes gratifying memories in my soul.
Over the long years of communion with nature, and especially over the past 15-20 years, when from the end of March to the end of October I was almost daily in the steppe or grove, I got so used to nature that I felt among plants, as among close ones. friends.
You used to walk along the blooming June steppe and joyfully greet old friends in your soul. You will bend over to the indigenous inhabitant of the former steppe freedom - field strawberries and “ask with your eyes” how she lives this summer. You stand in the same silent conversation near the mighty handsome iron ore and walk to other green acquaintances. It was always unusually joyful to meet after a long winter with spring primroses - golden goose onions, delicate bouquets of tiny (1-2 cm high!) Semolina and other pets of early spring.
By that time, I was already over seventy, and as before, like a three-year-old boy, I admired every steppe flower. It was not senile lisping, not cloying sentimentality, but some kind of inspiring merging with nature. Something similar, only incomparably deeper and finer, is probably experienced by great artists of the word and brush, such as Turgenev, Paustovsky. The elderly Saryan said not so long ago: “I never cease to be amazed by nature. And this delight before the sun and spring, before the blossoming apricot and the majesty of giant mountains, I try to depict on canvas ”(Izvestia. 1966. May 27).
Years passed. In 1963, I turned 80 years old. Old people's diseases began to set in. In the warm season, I was no longer able to go, as in previous years, 8-12 kilometers into the steppe or sit without getting up at a desk for ten hours. But I was still irresistibly attracted to nature. And I had to be content with close walks out of town.
The steppe beckons to itself with its endless expanses, mysteriously blue distances with ancient mounds on the horizon, an immense dome of the sky, songs of jubilant larks ringing in the heights, living multi-colored carpets underfoot. All this evokes high aesthetic experiences in the soul, enhances the work of fantasy. True, now that the virgin lands are almost completely plowed up, the steppe emotions have somewhat weakened, but the Don expanses and distances have remained just as immense and enticing. So that nothing distracts me from my observations, I always wander through the steppe alone, and not along rolled lifeless roads, but along paths overgrown with impassable thickets of grasses and shrubs, steppe slopes untouched by a plow, rocky cliffs, deserted gullies, that is, in places where steppe plants and animals hide from people.
Over the long years of studying phenology, I have developed the habit and skills to look closely at the beauty of the surrounding nature, whether it is a wide open landscape or a modest violet lurking under a bush. This habit also affects the conditions of the city. I cannot pass by the mirrored puddles scattered on the panels by a swooping summer cloud, so as not to look for a moment into the bottomless wonderful blue of the overturned sky. In April, I cannot help admiring in passing the golden caps of dandelions that flared up under the doorway that sheltered them.
When my failing health did not allow me to roam the steppe to my heart's content, I moved closer to my desk.
Beginning in 1934, brief summaries of my phenological observations were published in the Novocherkassk newspaper Znamya Kommuny. In the early years, these were dry information messages. Then I began to give them a descriptive character, and from the end of the fifties - a narrative one with some pretense of artistry.
It was once a joy to wander around the steppe in search of plants unknown to you, to create new devices and tables, to work on the burning issues of pheno-signaling. This developed creative thought and ennobled life. And now my creative fantasy, which had been hushed up due to old age, again found its use in literary work.
And the joyful torments of creativity began. In order to sketch a sketch of the life of nature for a newspaper or magazine, I often sat for hours at my desk. Notes were regularly published in the Novocherkassk and Rostov newspapers. The realization that my notes open the eyes of the inhabitants to the beauty in the familiar surrounding nature and thereby call them to its protection, gave significance to these studies. Based on their materials, I wrote two small books: Notes of a Phenologist (1958) and Steppe Etudes (1966), published by Rostizdat.
The landscapes of A. Blok delight with bright colors and emotional content. No exception and "Summer Evening", which is studied in the 6th grade. We suggest that you familiarize yourself with a brief analysis of the "Summer Evening" according to the plan.
Brief analysis
History of creation- the work appeared in 1898 under the impression of a summer spent in an estate near Moscow.
Theme of the poem- a summer evening descending on the countryside.
Composition- Conventionally, the poem can be divided into two parts: an evening landscape and an appeal to the reader. Formally, it consists of three quatrains.
Genre- elegy.
Poetic size- iambic tetrameter, cross rhyme ABAB.
Metaphors – “the rays of the sunset lie on a field of compressed rye”, “the grass is embraced by a pink slumber”, “the red disk of the moon”, “rush off ... towards the night and the moon”.
epithets – "last rays", "pink slumber", "uncut grass", "evening silence".
History of creation
"Summer Evening" refers to the early period of A. Blok's work. The history of the creation of the poem is connected with the poet's stay in the family estate near Moscow. Alexander Alexandrovich wrote the work in December 1898, a few months after entering St. Petersburg University. The young man spent the summer of this year at the Shakhmatovo estate. The serene warm days remained in his memory for a long time, and later embodied in a poem.
Subject
The work develops traditional summer motifs for literature. They are closely intertwined with the emotions of the lyrical hero. Through the prism of his perception, the author reveals the theme of a summer village evening.
The background for creating a landscape is a field of rye. And this is not surprising, because for many it is associated with the Russian village. The field is basking in the last rays of the sun, and the grass is already “embraced in a pink slumber”. This color hints at the carefree, cheerful mood of the lyrical hero.
The landscape reproduced by Blok is static, so it perfectly conveys the evening atmosphere. Even the breeze does not disturb nature. Silence reigns around: both the birds and the reapers are silent. The details of the landscape sketch suggest to the reader that the lyrical hero is watching the August evening.
The last quatrain of the poem is addressed to an invisible listener. It is impossible to understand who is its addressee: the reader or the lyrical hero himself. In these lines, the lyrical "I" calls to forget about their sorrows and completely surrender to nature. He seeks to escape from everyday dullness, routine. To do this, you need to forget for a moment about your goals and disturbing thoughts. The last lines suggest that under the mask of a lyrical hero, a carefree young man is hiding, who wants freedom and adventure. Thus, two problems are raised in the third quatrain: spiritual freedom from the vain human life and the unity of man and nature.
In "Summer Evening" the idea is realized that nature gives a person peace and tranquility, and also helps him feel free.
Composition
The composition of the poem is simple. Conventionally, it can be divided into two parts: an evening summer landscape and an appeal to the reader. The first part takes up more lines than the second. Formally, the poem consists of three quatrains, each of which continues the previous one in meaning.
Genre
The genre of the poem is elegy. Despite the fact that the work is based on a landscape, philosophical notes are felt. The first quatrains have a pronounced contemplative character. The last lines push you to think about real freedom. The poetic size is iambic tetrameter. A. Blok used the cross rhyme ABAB. The work has both male and female rhymes.
means of expression
The set of expressive means used in the poem is limited. Nevertheless, they are the author's main assistant in reproducing pictures of nature and conveying the mood of the lyrical hero. The text has metaphors- “the rays of the sunset lie on a field of compressed rye”, “grass is embraced by a pink slumber”, “the red disk of the moon”, “rush off ... towards the night and the moon” and epithets- “last rays”, “pink slumber”, “uncut grass”, “evening silence”. The paths are striking in their simplicity, some in their banality. However, this feature does not impoverish the artistic design of the poems. It helps the reader get closer to nature.
The poem is dominated by a calm, smooth intonation. It corresponds to the content, emphasizes the serenity of the surrounding hero of the world. Only the last quatrain is framed as an exclamatory sentence. Such intonation is required by its content and form.
In some lines the poet used alliteration"g", "s", "h", "z": "the last rays of sunset lie on a field of compressed rye". It seems that nature in a whisper reveals some secrets to the lyrical hero.
Poem Test
Analysis Rating
Average rating: 4.6. Total ratings received: 30.