Four artists - Page 2

And what is it swarming in the green grass? Bunnies. They are only two days old, but what good fellows they are already: they look in all directions, move their mustaches; waiting for their mother hare to feed them with milk.
With these kids, Spring-Krasna decided to finish her picture. Let the Sun look at her and rejoice at how everything around comes to life; let him judge: is it possible to paint a picture even more fun, even more elegant?
The sun peeked out from behind a blue cloud, looked out and admired. No matter how much it walked across the sky, no matter how marvelous it saw, but it had never seen such beauty. It looks at the picture of Spring, it cannot take its eyes off. Looks a month, another ...
The flowers of bird cherry, apple and pear trees had already faded and were showered with white snow for a long time; grass has long been growing green in place of a transparent spring puddle; in the nests of birds hatched and covered with feathers chicks; tiny hares have already become young nimble hares ...

Even Spring herself cannot recognize her picture. Something new, unfamiliar appeared in her. So, the time has come to give way to another artist-painter.
“I'll see if this artist paints a picture more joyful, more cheerful than mine,” says Vesna. “And then I’ll fly to the north, they won’t wait for me there.”

Hot Summer has started. He thinks, wonders what kind of picture he should draw, and decided: “I’ll take simpler paints, but more juicy.” And so it did.
Summer painted the whole forest with juicy greenery; meadows and mountains were covered with green paint. Only for rivers and lakes took transparent, bright blue.
“Let,” Summer thinks, “everything in my picture will be ripe, ripe.” It looked into the old orchard, hung ruddy apples and pears on the trees, and tried so hard that even the branches could not stand it - they leaned to the very ground.
In the forest, under the trees, under the bushes, Summer planted many, many different mushrooms. Each fungus has chosen its place.
“Let in the light birch forest,” Leto decided, “boletus with gray roots, in brown caps, and in the aspen forest grow boletus.” Summer dressed them up in orange and yellow caps.
A lot of different mushrooms appeared in the shady forest: russula, volnushki, boletus ... And in the glades, as if flowers had blossomed, fly agarics opened their bright red umbrellas.
But the best mushroom was the boletus mushroom. He grew up in a pine forest, crawled out of the damp green moss, got up a little, shook off the withered yellow needles, and suddenly became such a handsome man - to the envy of all mushrooms, to surprise.

Around him are green lingonberry bushes, blueberries grow, all of them are covered with berries. Cowberries have red berries, while blueberries have dark blue, almost black berries.
Boletus mushroom surrounded the bushes. And he stands among them such a stocky, strong, real forest hero.

Hot Summer looks at his picture, looks and thinks: “There are few berries in my forest. We need to add." It took the entire slope of the forest ravine and decorated it with thick raspberry bushes.
The bushes are merrily green. And how good the berries are on them - large, sweet, so they ask in their mouths! A she-bear with her cubs climbed into the raspberry forest, they can’t tear themselves away from the delicious berries.
Good in the forest! Looks like he wouldn't have left.
But the artist Hot Summer is in a hurry, he needs to go everywhere.
Summer peeped into the field; covered the ears of wheat and rye with heavy gilding. The fields of grain became yellow, golden; so they bend in the wind like a ripe ear.

And on the lush meadows, Summer started a merry haymaking: wild flowers lay down in fragrant haystacks, hid their multi-colored heads in a green heap of grass and dozed off there.
Green bales of hay in the meadows; golden fields of bread; ruddy apples, pears in the garden... A good picture of Hot Summer! You can show it to the Red Sun.

The sun peeked out from behind a bluish cloud, looks, admires. Bright, joyful all around. One would never take one's eyes away from the lush greenery of the dark forest, from the golden fields, from the blue surface of rivers and lakes. Admire the Sun for a month, another. Well drawn!
Only here is the trouble: day by day the foliage on the bushes and trees fades, fades, and the whole picture of the Hot Summer becomes not so juicy. Apparently, it's time to give way to another artist. How will he cope with his work? It will not be easy for him to paint a picture better than those that have already shown the Sun Zimushka-Winter, Spring-Red and Hot Summer.
But Autumn does not think to lose heart.
For her work, she took the brightest colors and first of all went with them to the forest. There she took up her painting.

Birches and maples were covered by Autumn with lemon yellowness. And the leaves of the aspens were blushed like ripe apples. The aspen tree became all bright red, all burning like a fire.
Autumn wandered into a forest clearing. A hundred-year-old oak-hero stands in the middle of it, stands, shakes its dense foliage.

"The mighty hero needs to be dressed in forged copper armor." So I dressed up the old man.
He looks, and not far away, at the edge of the clearing, thick, spreading lindens gathered in a circle, their branches lowered down. “They are best suited for a heavy headdress of golden brocade.”