One summer I went to the forest, and this trip was remembered for a long time.
Four foxes at the sight of me instantly disappeared into the hole. The fifth, the bravest, let go, and then belligerently yelped and followed their example. I settled down on a tall tree and looked around.
Over the sunny glade of the glade danced delicate dove-like doves and bright dawns in the air dance, mica dragonflies swiftly swept. From the bush of the dog rose, the black-haired shrike stared sternly and attentively. Here he quickly fell into the grass and immediately took off with a lizard in his beak. From the flowering hawthorn came the cheerful whistle of the falcon, and the shady bird-cherry trees scattered around each other a frequent fraction, a sonorous nightingale’s thudding.
More than an hour passed. And when it began to seem that the foxes would not dare to get out of the underground shelter, suddenly a curious roguish face of one of them appeared. He looked around, cautiously climbed to the surface, and after him, noiselessly, simultaneously, as if at the command, the whole gay family appeared. I sat without stirring, and when I clicked the camera, all the foxes ran amicably together.
This unusual day was remembered for a long time. And the picture was successful, I showed it to my family and friends with pride.