Four artists - Page 3

All the trees and even the bushes were decorated by Autumn in their own way, in autumn: some in a yellow outfit, some in bright red ... Only pines and ate, she did not know how to decorate. After all, they don’t have leaves on the branches, but needles, you can’t paint them. Let them stay as they were in the summer.
So there were pines and ate in summer, dark green. And because of this, the forest in its motley autumn attire became even brighter, even more elegant.

Autumn went from the forest to the fields, to the meadows. She removed the golden bread from the fields, brought it to the threshing floor, and in the meadows she swept fragrant haystacks into high haystacks, like towers.
The fields and meadows were empty, they became even wider, more spacious. And schools of migratory birds stretched over them in the autumn sky: cranes, geese, ducks ... And there, you see, high, high, under the very clouds, large snow-white birds - swans fly; fly, flap their wings like handkerchiefs, send farewell greetings to their native places.
Birds fly to warm countries. And the animals in their own way, in an animal way, prepare for the cold.

Autumn drives the prickly hedgehog to sleep under a pile of boughs, the badger - into a deep hole, the bear makes a bed of fallen leaves. But the squirrel is taught to dry mushrooms on branches, to collect ripe nuts in a hollow. Even the elegant gray-winged bird, the jay, was forced by the naughty Autumn to pick up a mouth full of acorns and hide them in a clearing in soft green moss.
In autumn, every bird, every animal is busy, preparing for the winter, there is no time for them to waste time.
In a hurry, in a hurry Autumn, more and more new colors she finds for her picture. Gray clouds cover the sky. Cold rain washes away the motley dressing of foliage. And on thin telegraph wires along the road, like black beads on a thread, she plants a string of the last flying swallows.
The picture turned out to be unhappy. But there is also something good in it.

Autumn is satisfied with her work, you can show it to the Red Sun.
The Sun peeped out from behind a bluish cloud, and under his gentle gaze, the gloomy picture of Autumn immediately cheered up, smiled.

Like golden coins, the last birch leaves shone on the bare branches. The river, bordered by yellow reeds, became even bluer, the distance beyond the river became even more transparent and wider, the expanses of the native land became even more endless.
Looks Red Sun, can't take his eyes off. The picture turned out wonderful, only it seems as if something in it is not finished, as if the fields and forests, hushed, washed by the autumn rain, are waiting for something. They can't wait for the bare branches of bushes and trees when a new artist comes and dresses them in a white fluffy dress.
And this artist is not far away. It is already the turn of Zimushka-Zima to paint a new picture.
So four magic painters work in turn: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. And each of them is good in their own way. No way the Sun will decide whose picture is better. Who decorated the fields, forests and meadows more elegantly? What is more beautiful: white sparkling snow or a motley carpet of spring flowers, juicy greenery of Summer or yellow, golden colors of Autumn?
Or maybe everything is good in its own way? If so, then wizard painters have nothing to argue about; let each of them draw a picture for himself in his turn. And we look at their work and admire.