We live on the fourth floor. The windows of our apartment face the courtyard, which is densely planted with poplars. Most poplars are old, planted after the war. All these poplars are good, but in the beginning of summer they cause a lot of inconvenience. Pooh from them penetrates even into the rooms, flies into the entrances, and the ground, like fluffy snow is covered. We like boys to bring a lighted match to the white fluffy islets of poplar fluff and watch the fiery snakes, slightly crackling, devour the whiteness. One of the poplars touched the branches of my room window. It was remarkable that on its trunk there was a birdhouse for many years. The tree grew, and with it rose up, like an elevator car, a birdhouse. Years passed and he was at the level of the window of my room. I saw how the house was populated by starlings, how they quarreled, I knew when they flew away, and in winter sparrows flew into their dwelling. Maybe they were attracted to curiosity there – I wanted
to know what kind of starlings they were supposed to be. Or maybe sparrows drove into a wooden house of cold. Whatever it was, but in winter and summer the poplar served as a haven for a wide variety of birds. On its thick branches it was important to sit crows, and pigeons so cooed in the mornings that they did not allow to sleep. This poplar was like a member of our family. Open the window – his breath bursts into the room; in the summer his down was hammered into the most unexpected corners of the apartment. And in autumn the yellow leaves fell on the windowsill, we found them under the chiffonier and under the desk. Waking up, I was talking to the poplar “Hello!”, I wished good night. In short, we were friends. Whatever it was, but in winter and summer the poplar served as a haven for a wide variety of birds. On its thick branches it was important to sit crows, and pigeons so cooed in the mornings that they did not allow to sleep. This poplar was like a member of our family. Open the window – his breath bursts into the room; in the summer his down was hammered into the most unexpected corners
of the apartment. And in autumn the yellow leaves fell on the windowsill, we found them under the chiffonier and under the desk. Waking up, I was talking to the poplar “Hello!”, I wished good night. In short, we were friends. Whatever it was, but in winter and summer the poplar served as a haven for a wide variety of birds. On its thick branches it was important to sit crows, and pigeons so cooed in the mornings that they did not allow to sleep. This poplar was like a member of our family. Open the window – his breath bursts into the room; in the summer his down was hammered into the most unexpected corners of the apartment. And in autumn the yellow leaves fell on the windowsill, we found them under the chiffonier and under the desk. Waking up, I was talking to the poplar “Hello!”, I wished good night. In short, we were friends. in the summer his down was hammered into the most unexpected corners of the apartment. And in autumn the yellow leaves fell on the windowsill, we found them under the chiffonier and under the desk. Waking up, I was talking to the poplar “Hello!”, I wished good night. In short, we were friends. in the summer his down was hammered into the most unexpected corners of the apartment. And in autumn the yellow leaves fell on the windowsill, we found them under the chiffonier and under the desk. Waking up, I was talking to the poplar “Hello!”, I wished good night. In short, we were friends.
But time inexorably destroyed the tree: the crust crumbled, after a strong wind one of the thick branches broke off and crashed to the ground with a roar. Many branches in the spring were no longer covered with foliage. And then one day a brigade of workers came to the yard, who sawed the tree. It seemed that we were orphaned. A void formed in front of the window, the room became unusually bright, but I was uncomfortable in it, I felt lonely, although all my family were close.
I sadly remembered the bird house opposite to my window, its inhabitants, who would never settle in it. From the birdhouse, there were some debris that were soon removed from the sawn wood.
On the family council, we decided to make a bird house and attach it to the growing poplar near our entrance.
“I wonder how many years the birdhouse will rise to the level of our floor?” – I’m interested in the pope. “We will observe,” he says, “trees, like people, have a century, our life is inconceivable without green friends.”
