Works about flowers
Wildflowers are a matter of our admiration and inspiration
A fascinating composition about flowers takes the reader’s imagination into an uncontrollably turbulent aroma of the bread field, where a whole army of flowering herbs and buds is lost among the ripening wheat ears. The local children happily weave the original wreaths of motley mixed herbs, enjoying the beauty and generosity of nature of their native land.
“Poplar fluff… heat… July” – the words of a friend familiar to everyone were heard from the open windows of the summer residents. Corresponding to the song, the sun fried mercilessly. No one could be seen in the beds. All reclined in hammocks, in the shade of very spreading tree crowns, waiting for the evening coolness.
The boys rushed with wild cries, depicting either the Indians or the savages of their own tribe. The girls went for a walk, and also gossip about their own, about the girl. They slowly walked barefoot
Suddenly, from beyond the horizon, a wheat field emerged, on which all sorts of flowers blossomed with splashes of bright colors. Without agreeing, the girlfriends broke off and ran racing, making their way through the wall of ears, and inhaling full spicy aroma of herbs. Poppies blushed, daisies were white, cornflowers blue, and bells rang. Great!
Here and there, disturbed birds flew up, and grasshoppers and dragonflies crackled even louder. All sorts of different bugs and “ladybugs” busily paced the petals and blades of grass. A new, completely amazing world of nature opened before the girls. Placers of wild flowers smelled no worse than hothouse flowers, and their immediate liveliness delighted them.
Poppies, so gentle, shamefully aleted on graceful velvet legs. Cornflowers, on the contrary, are torn up on elastic stems, it will be convinced that they are blueer than the sky itself. Camomiles do not lag behind, because they are those snow-white clouds through which the sun is glancing through. Lilac bells sound in unison: “lil… la,
Girls with arms of flowers descended into a shady hollow and began to weave wreaths. Then they crowned each other, handing out the titles of the princesses, the marquis and the baroness. Although they were still just small, pretty girls, like a forest nymph.
The sun was coming to an end. Field flowers gradually lowered their heads, preparing for sleep. The birds fell silent, settling down the fluffy branches of trees and bushes. Dragonfly, grasshoppers and other bugs sheltered the field for the night.
From the dachas, voices of mothers and grandmothers were heard. who gathered everyone for supper. The night will pass calmly and coolly. Tomorrow will come a new day with new experiences and impressions. And only a withered wreath of wild flowers on the windowsill with a barely perceptible aroma will remind you of the beautiful yesterday.
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