A tale about a worm who was gaining life experience. Category Archives: Tales of Worms in Caps

“Look, Misha,” said Lizanka, stopping near a flowering bush, “someone pasted cotton paper on a piece of paper; isn't it you?

- No, - Misha answered, - is it Sasha or Volodya?

- Where can Volodya do this? - Lizanka continued, - look how skillfully these thin threads are stretched and how firmly they hold on to the green leaf.

- Look, - said Misha, - there is something round!

With these words, the prankster wanted to pull off the pasted cotton.

- Oh no! Do not touch! - cried Lizanka, holding Misha and looking closely at the leaf, - here the worm, you see, is moving.

The children were not mistaken: in fact, on a leaf of a flowering bush, under a light transparent blanket that looked like cotton paper, a worm lay in a thin shell. For a long time he lay there, for a long time already the breeze was rocking his cradle, and he sweetly dozed in his airy bed. The conversation of the children awakened the worm; he drilled a window in his shell, looked out into the light of God, looks - it is bright, good, and the sun is warming; thought our little worm.

- What is it, - he says, - I've never felt so warm before; it is evident that it is not bad in the light of God; let me move on.

Once more he knocked on the shell, and the window became a door; the little worm stuck its head in again, again, and finally, completely crawled out of the shell. She looks through her transparent curtain, and near him on a leaf is a drop of sweet dew, and the sun plays in it, and as if a rainbow glow falls from it on the greenery.

- Let me drink some sweet water, - said the worm; stretched, but it was not there. Who is this? That's right, mama worm has attached the curtain so tightly, you can't even lift it! What to do? So our little worm looked, looked, and began to undermine first that thread, then the other; worked, worked, and finally the curtain went up; the worm crawled under it and drank sweet water. He has fun in the fresh air; a warm breeze blows on the worm, sways a trickle of dew and pours fragrant dust on it from the flowers.

- No, - says the worm, - you can't deceive me forward! Why would I go under a stuffy blanket again and suck on a dry shell? I'd rather stay in the open; there are many fragrant flowers, many hooks are scattered over the leaves; there is something to cling to ...

No sooner had the worm uttered it, when suddenly it looked, the leaves rustled among themselves and the midges buzzed in alarm; the sky darkened, the sun itself hid behind a cloud out of fear; crows croak; ducks cackle; and then the rain poured down a downpour. There is a whole sea under the poor worm; a wave swept over the baby, a shiver ran over his thin skin; both cold and scared he felt. As soon as he came to his senses, he gathered strength and again, shaking his head, wandered under the cotton curtain, into his dear bed.

Here the baby has warmed up. Meanwhile, the rain stopped, the sun appeared again and scattered in small sparks over the raindrops.

- No, - said the worm again, - now you can't deceive me; Why should I go out of my darling nest into the cold and dampness? You see, the sun is so cunning: it will lure you, it will warm you, but not, to protect you from the rain!

A day has passed, another has passed, and a third has passed. The little worm lies in a cotton blanket, waddles from side to side, sometimes sticks out its head, pinches the leaf and again into the cradle. Here he looks: the hairs on his body began to break through; in less than a week, the worm had a warm patterned fur coat. If you could see what flowers nature scattered over it! She girded it with red ribbons, planted yellow furry buttons along its length, and put black and green veins to its neck.

- Ge! ge! - said the little worm to himself, - really, really, I have to lie in my bed for a century and look at the curtain? Is it really the only thing in this world? I must confess I am tired of the bed; cramped in her, boring. If I looked at the light, show myself; maybe I'm good for something else. Well, really, is it really to be afraid of rain? Yes, me, in my fur coat, and the rain is not terrible. Let me try, flaunt in my new outfit.

Here the worm raised the curtain again; looks: a flower has just blossomed over him; a drop of sugar honey from it and beckons the baby. The worm could not resist, got up, tightly wrapped itself around the neck of the flower and greedily kissed his new friend. Looks: there is another flower above him better than that; he goes to him; then another third, even better; they all whisper among themselves; play with the baby and sprinkle sticky honey into it. Our little worm started frolicking, forgotten ... Suddenly the wind blew and shook the worm to the ground.

Something will happen to our dandy, how to find his birthplace? However, he raised his head and looked around.

- Well, well, - he thinks, - the trouble is not great yet; blundered so blundered! Another time science; there is no need for me to go back to the cradle. No, there is nothing to hold on to the cradle; it's time to live with your mind.

He said and crawled aimlessly. Here he crawled to the branch, plucked it - hard! He further - more, more and crawled to the sheet; tried it - delicious.

- No, - said the worm, - now I'll be smarter, the breeze won't shake me off!

And he threw a cobweb behind the sheet.

He swallowed the sheet, dragged himself onto another, and then onto the third. Have fun worm! Whether the wind smells, it will nestle on the cobweb; Whether a cloud comes running, his coat is not afraid of rain; Whether the sun bakes strongly, he is under a leaf, and he laughs at the sun, a mocker!

But there were also bitter minutes for the worm. Then, he looks, the bird flies, stares at him, and sometimes it flies up, and his nose pushes him under the side. But the little worm is not a simpleton: he will pretend, hide, as if he were dead, and the bird is away from him. It was even more bitter than this: he dragged himself onto a new leaf, and looked, on it sits a large shaggy spider with hooks on its legs, moves its bloody mouth and stretches the net over the worm.

Sometimes evil people passed by the worm and said among themselves:

- Ah, damned worms! Throw them all to the ground and trample them well!

The little worm, hearing such speeches, went into a deep thicket and did not dare to appear for days on end.

And sometimes Lizanka and Misha took him in their hands to admire his multi-colored fur coat; and although they were good children, they did not want to harm the worm, but they crumpled it so carelessly in their hands that then the poor worm, already barely breathing, crawled onto the dear branch.

Meanwhile, the summer has passed. Many flowers had faded, and heads with juicy grains rustled in their place; before the sun began to go down the hill, and more often than before the breeze blew, and more often it dripped with a large rain. Lizanka and Misha had already remembered their fur coats and were arguing about which one was better - theirs or the worm's. The little worm noticed that the leaves had already become not so fragrant and juicy, the sun was not so warm, and he himself had already become not so alive; everything in the world seemed to him not so comforting as before.

“Well,” he thinks, “I've lived enough in the world, worked, experienced both sorrow and joy, drank both bitter and sweet dew, I flaunted a fur coat, made friends with flowers; not for a century to crawl in an empty way on the ground; it's time to be something better.

He descended from the leaf, stretched past the shiny drop of dew, remembered how its trickles amused him, the baby, and crawled further into the thicket of greenery. He began to look for a shady, modest place, far from noise and light; found him, took shelter and began important work in his life. When Lizanka and Misha found their little worm, they were very surprised that their old acquaintance did not eat or drink anything, and spent whole hours incessantly working on his business. What was the work of the worm? This work was important, dear children: the worm was preparing to die and was building a grave for itself!

Worked on it for a long time; finally, he took off his patterned fur coat, saying: "There will be no need for it," and fell asleep in a restful sleep. The worm was gone, only his lifeless coffin and his fur coat rolled into a ball were swinging on the leaf.

But the worm did not sleep long! Suddenly he feels - a new heart is beating in him, small legs have broken through from under the abdomen and something has stirred on the back; another minute - and his grave disintegrated. The worm looks: he is no longer a worm; he does not need to crawl on the ground and cling to the leaves; he has developed large, iridescent wings, he is alive, free; he rises proudly into the air.

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Vladimir Fedorovich Odoevsky

Worm

“Look, Misha,” said Lizanka, stopping near a flowering bush, “someone pasted cotton paper on a piece of paper; isn't it you?

- No, - Misha answered, - is it Sasha or Volodya?

- Where can Volodya do this? - Lizanka continued, - look how skillfully these thin threads are stretched and how firmly they hold on to the green leaf.

- Look, - said Misha, - there is something round!

With these words, the prankster wanted to pull off the pasted cotton.

- Oh no! Do not touch! - cried Lizanka, holding Misha and looking closely at the leaf, - here the worm, you see, is moving.

The children were not mistaken: in fact, on a leaf of a flowering bush, under a light transparent blanket that looked like cotton paper, a worm lay in a thin shell. For a long time he lay there, for a long time already the breeze was rocking his cradle, and he sweetly dozed in his airy bed. The conversation of the children awakened the worm; he drilled a window in his shell, looked out into the light of God, looks - it is bright, good, and the sun is warming; thought our little worm.

- What is it, - he says, - I've never felt so warm before; it is evident that it is not bad in the light of God; let me move on.

Once more he knocked on the shell, and the window became a door; the little worm stuck its head in again, again, and finally, completely crawled out of the shell. She looks through her transparent curtain, and near him on a leaf is a drop of sweet dew, and the sun plays in it, and as if a rainbow glow falls from it on the greenery.

- Let me drink some sweet water, - said the worm; stretched, but it was not there. Who is this? That's right, mama worm has attached the curtain so tightly, you can't even lift it! What to do? So our little worm looked, looked, and began to undermine first that thread, then the other; worked, worked, and finally the curtain went up; the worm crawled under it and drank sweet water. He has fun in the fresh air; a warm breeze blows on the worm, sways a trickle of dew and pours fragrant dust on it from the flowers.

- No, - says the worm, - you can't deceive me forward! Why would I go under a stuffy blanket again and suck on a dry shell? I'd rather stay in the open; there are many fragrant flowers, many hooks are scattered over the leaves; there is something to cling to ...

No sooner had the worm uttered it, when suddenly it looked, the leaves rustled among themselves and the midges buzzed in alarm; the sky darkened, the sun itself hid behind a cloud out of fear; crows croak; ducks cackle; and then the rain poured down a downpour. There is a whole sea under the poor worm; a wave swept over the baby, a shiver ran over his thin skin; both cold and scared he felt. As soon as he came to his senses, he gathered strength and again, shaking his head, wandered under the cotton curtain, into his dear bed.

Here the baby has warmed up. Meanwhile, the rain stopped, the sun appeared again and scattered in small sparks over the raindrops.

- No, - said the worm again, - now you can't deceive me; Why should I go out of my darling nest into the cold and dampness? You see, the sun is so cunning: it will lure you, it will warm you, but not, to protect you from the rain!

A day has passed, another has passed, and a third has passed. The little worm lies in a cotton blanket, waddles from side to side, sometimes sticks out its head, pinches the leaf and again into the cradle. Here he looks: the hairs on his body began to break through; in less than a week, the worm had a warm patterned fur coat. If you could see what flowers nature scattered over it! She girded it with red ribbons, planted yellow furry buttons along its length, and put black and green veins to its neck.

- Ge! ge! - said the little worm to himself, - really, really, I have to lie in my bed for a century and look at the curtain? Is it really the only thing in this world? I must confess I am tired of the bed; cramped in her, boring. If I looked at the light, show myself; maybe I'm good for something else. Well, really, is it really to be afraid of rain? Yes, me, in my fur coat, and the rain is not terrible. Let me try, flaunt in my new outfit.

Here the worm raised the curtain again; looks: a flower has just blossomed over him; a drop of sugar honey from it and beckons the baby. The worm could not resist, got up, tightly wrapped itself around the neck of the flower and greedily kissed his new friend. Looks: above him another flower is even better than that; he goes to him; then another third, even better; they all whisper among themselves; play with the baby and sprinkle sticky honey into it. Our little worm started frolicking, forgotten ... Suddenly the wind blew and shook the worm to the ground.

Something will happen to our dandy, how to find his birthplace? However, he raised his head and looked around.

- Well, well, - he thinks, - the trouble is not great yet; blundered so blundered! Another time science; there is no need for me to go back to the cradle. No, there is nothing to hold on to the cradle; it's time to live with your mind.

He said and crawled aimlessly. Here he crawled to the branch, plucked it - hard! He further - more, more and crawled to the sheet; tried it - delicious.

- No, - said the worm, - now I'll be smarter, the breeze won't shake me off!

And he threw a cobweb behind the sheet.

He swallowed the sheet, dragged himself onto another, and then onto the third. Have fun worm! Whether the wind smells, it will nestle on the cobweb; Whether a cloud comes running, his coat is not afraid of rain; Whether the sun bakes strongly, he is under a leaf, and he laughs at the sun, a mocker!

But there were also bitter minutes for the worm. Then, he looks, the bird flies, stares at him, and sometimes it flies up, and his nose pushes him under the side. But the little worm is not a simpleton: he will pretend, hide, as if he were dead, and the bird is away from him. It was even more bitter than this: he dragged himself onto a new leaf, and looked, on it sits a large shaggy spider with hooks on its legs, moves its bloody mouth and stretches the net over the worm.

Sometimes evil people passed by the worm and said among themselves:

- Ah, damned worms! Throw them all to the ground and trample them well!

The little worm, hearing such speeches, went into a deep thicket and did not dare to appear for days on end.

And sometimes Lizanka and Misha took him in their hands to admire his multi-colored fur coat; and although they were good children, they did not want to harm the worm, but they crumpled it so carelessly in their hands that then the poor worm, already barely breathing, crawled onto the dear branch.

Meanwhile, the summer has passed. Many flowers had faded, and heads with juicy grains rustled in their place; before the sun began to go down the hill, and more often than before the breeze blew, and more often it dripped with a large rain. Lizanka and Misha had already remembered their fur coats and were arguing about which one was better - theirs or the worm's. The little worm noticed that the leaves had already become not so fragrant and juicy, the sun was not so warm, and he himself had already become not so alive; everything in the world seemed to him not so comforting as before.

“Well,” he thinks, “I've lived enough in the world, worked, experienced both sorrow and joy, drank both bitter and sweet dew, I flaunted a fur coat, made friends with flowers; not for a century to crawl in an empty way on the ground; it's time to be something better.

He descended from the leaf, stretched past the shiny drop of dew, remembered how its trickles amused him, the baby, and crawled further into the thicket of greenery. He began to look for a shady, modest place, far from noise and light; found him, took shelter and began important work in his life. When Lizanka and Misha found their little worm, they were very surprised that their old acquaintance did not eat or drink anything, and spent whole hours incessantly working on his business. What was the work of the worm? This work was important, dear children: the worm was preparing to die and was building a grave for itself!

Worked on it for a long time; finally, he took off his patterned fur coat, saying: "There will be no need for it," and fell asleep in a restful sleep. The worm was gone, only his lifeless coffin and his fur coat rolled into a ball were swinging on the leaf.

But the worm did not sleep long! Suddenly he feels - a new heart is beating in him, small legs have broken through from under the abdomen and something has stirred on the back; another minute - and his grave disintegrated. The worm looks: he is no longer a worm; he does not need to crawl on the ground and cling to the leaves; he has developed large, iridescent wings, he is alive, free; he rises proudly into the air.

This happens with more than one worm, dear children. You often see that the one with whom you frolicked and played together in the soft meadow tomorrow lies pale, lifeless; relatives and friends cry over him, and he cannot smile at them; they put him in a damp grave, and your friend is gone! But don't believe it! Your friend is not dead; his grave opens - and he, invisible to us, flies up to heaven in the form of a bright angel.

The ancients noticed this similarity between the transformation of a butterfly and the immortality of man, and therefore in their paintings and statues they depicted a man with butterfly wings - so that people would not forget that, having lived their days, having experienced sorrow and joy, again, like a butterfly, will return to new life, and that death is only a change of clothing. So, perhaps, you will meet the image of Plato, the sage of antiquity, with butterfly wings; he was portrayed in this way because he spoke more eloquently than others about the immortality of the soul and about life after death.

Hey! Does anyone of you know why the worm is called an earthworm?

Maybe this is all due to the fact that during the rain these same worms crawl out of their burrows together?

This is especially noticeable on wet asphalt after rain. Children stomp for themselves on the wet sidewalk, watch the steam rise from the puddles, and sometimes plop barefoot right through the warm puddles. And underfoot here and there, worms come across.

That and look you will come!

It is then that it becomes clear that these worms are not simple, but earthworms.

And why did the worms suddenly decide to become rain-fed? It's not just that - for no reason. No. So not interesting! I think that for this, some kind of thing happened to them. interesting story! For example, such as in our new fairy tale.

How the worm became an earthworm

A fairy tale about an earthworm for children

A long time ago, when there were no names and names, there was one worm. The most common. Grayish pink, long and slightly shiny

Actually, this worm was funny. Like all other common worms. But not when it was raining outside. It was getting cold from the rain. In addition, the rain poured huge puddles on the road.

- It's just awful! - the worm sighed sadly, looking out of its dry and warm burrow. Not only is it cold, but also puddles! These puddles must be terribly cold!

And the rest of the ordinary worms agreed with him, sighing loudly from the neighboring burrows:

- Dampness and boredom this rain! - some muttered.

- Just a sheer nightmare and melancholy! - others muttered.

And the third, silently, curled up into a ring and went to bed. They hoped that when they woke up, the rain would stop.

Sometimes in the rain, ordinary worms gathered together and drank tea. The tea was warm and steamed.

The tea became warm. And from the heat, immediately after the cold, the mood improves. And he wants to chat.

- Well this is necessary, brothers! - our usual worm started his favorite conversation. How unlucky we are with you!

- Why is that? - the rest of the ordinary worms inquired with curiosity, sipping tea from snow-white cups.

The cups were made from lily of the valley flowers. The tea in them turned out to be very tasty and aromatic.

- How is that why ?! - the worm was surprised. Now, if we were animals, or birds, then we would have legs, or, at worst, legs.

- What do you! - was amazed at the worm of the slow-wittedness of his fellows. - If you have paws, or at worst - legs, then you can put on galoshes. And then no puddles are scary!

- That's it, that's it! No legs, no paws ... One tail! There is absolutely nowhere to put on galoshes! I'm not really like that ?! It will be necessary to look into a puddle!

But they did not dare to look into a puddle. Because they were afraid of something good to fall into it. Therefore, each worm secretly hoped that he was not like everyone else. And he probably has something to wear overshoes.

Once, on one of the rainy days, everyone gathered to visit our usual worm. As usual, they drank aromatic lime tea from lily of the valley cups.

And they chatted. About this, about this and about such an unfair fate to them.

And the rain turned out to be serious today. Not as usual. He poured and poured without ceasing. And, in the end, the worms decided so8

It was a cloud from above that carried the sea. She took him somewhere to the right place. You never know why. Someone told her that. And then the cloud did not have enough strength, and it began to spill the sea little by little. She hoped that if she poured a little, no one would notice. And it will be easier for her.

But this is a little bit for the sea. And the worms turned out to be an enormous and deep puddle.

And, of course, right at the exit from the mink. The one in which they drank tea together and came up with a cloud.

As soon as the puddle blocked all the exits from the burrow, the rain immediately stopped. And the sun came out.

- Well! The worm remarked gloomily. - You see - I poured everything superfluous directly onto our mink and further the sea took me. And now, tell us what to do ?! I say, brothers, we are unlucky, oh, how unlucky we are!

- What are we going to do now ?! - the rest of the ordinary worms were worried.

- I'm sorry, what! - Our usual worm answered them. - We'll keep thinking. Nothing else remains for us.

The worms poured one more flower of tea and began to think. While everyone was thinking, the smallest worm, into which tea no longer fit, boldly crawled to the very edge of the puddle and said in surprise:

- Look! Look! Steam comes from a huge puddle! How from your tea!

- Steam?! - Our usual worm was surprised.

- What other steam ?! - the rest of the worms were outraged. - There is no steam from cold puddles. Cold puddles can only cause cold and trouble!

- HM…. - Loudly continued to think our ordinary worm.

And the smallest, forgetting to think properly, said:

- So this is not a cold puddle, but warm tea! - and, no sooner had my mother grabbed the unreasonable worm by the collar, as he had already thrust his curious muzzle into a puddle.

- Ugh! - He happily spat out water from a puddle, leaning back. - No! This is not tea! But it's warm! - announced the worm.

Only my mother wanted to scold the reckless worm, as everyone ran up to him and asked:

- Warm ?! What are you saying ?!

- It never happened that it would be a puddle and warm!

Then, some still began to doubt:

- But steam!

- And tea has steam!

- Maybe it's true - warm ?!

And our most common worm decisively announced:

“Of course, we all know that a puddle cannot be warm. But.

The worm fell silent. And they all fell silent.

The worm looked at everyone pointedly. And everyone looked back the same way.

- Until we try it personally, we will not be sure!

- Exactly! - agreed the rest of the usual worms. And someone suddenly said:

- But the worm has already checked!

Our ordinary worm heard this and grinned in a fatherly way:

- The worm is still so young! - he said. - He doesn't know much. You never know what he fancied.

Everyone nodded. And the worm turned away resentfully.

Here our worm gained resolve, and, despite all its dislike for cold puddles, courageously thrust the very tip of its tail into a huge and deep puddle.

Everyone looked at him with bated breath and waited.

And the worm made big eyes, looked at them and was silent.

- Uncle-worm! Well, what are you ?! - could not resist, in the end, the worm. - Why are you silent?! Tell me - is it warm ?!

- Warm! - finally came to his senses, our usual worm. - Brothers! She's warm! - He shouted and with noticeable pleasure climbed into a huge warm puddle entirely.

And the rest of the ordinary worms rushed after him into the puddle. It was their joy to learn that the puddle after the rain is actually warm!

Since then, after every rain, ordinary worms crawled out of their burrows and climbed into puddles. In order to warm up.

And people, noticing their habit, called them rain. This is how earthworms appeared.

They were no longer afraid of puddles. And there was no need for them to get together and chat about how unlucky they were.

But they got going anyway. The tea of ​​an ordinary earthworm with linden and lily of the valley was very tasty. And the cups are a sheer feast for the eyes.

They were just chatting about something else now. Guess what? No? Then let's overhear a little.

- Well this is necessary, brothers! - our usual earthworm started his new favorite conversation. How lucky we are!

- Why is that? - the rest of the ordinary worms were interested with curiosity, sipping linden tea from snow-white cups. The cups quietly crunched thin walls and exuded a fabulous aroma.

- How is that why ?! - the worm was surprised. Now, if we were animals, or birds, then we would have legs, or, in general, legs.

- Is it good? - cautiously, the worms specified, eating tea with dandelion jam.

- What do you! - the worm was amazed at the lack of discernment of his fellows. - If you have paws, or in general - legs, then after the rain you will not be able to soak up the warm puddle. After all, all these paws and legs, they are always wearing galoshes!

- And, in fact, and the truth! - the rest of the ordinary worms shook their heads, admiring the ingenuity of our worm. At the same time, they glanced sideways at each other and thought:

- Here! And I am! No legs, no paws! I saw it myself! In reflection. When I was swimming in a warm puddle. Only one tail! The beauty! How lucky I am!

Here's a fairy tale that happened to the worms.

Or maybe everything really was so? And the same ordinary worm that I met once after the rain and told this whole story was telling the truth?

Anything can happen. In addition, the worm seemed very honest to me. It's just a pity that he forgot to introduce himself, and I forgot to ask. And now I keep thinking, what if it was the same

Once upon a time there was a worm.
Not earthen, phew the earth to chew!
Not some kind of worm, phew nasty pest!
No! It was an apple worm! He lived in an apple, ate in an apple, slept in an apple, an apple was all that he knew, loved and saw. When the wind blew, the apple swayed strongly, and the worm did not like it. The worm was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseous. Once, when a worm stuck out its head to bask in the sun, a titmouse sat on an apple. Huge monster! She pecked at the apple, trying to get to the poor worm. He was terribly frightened, climbed into the very depths of his house, curled up between the apple seeds and hoped for a miracle. He heard the beak of this terrible reptile getting closer and closer and was about to grab the poor fellow by the belly, when suddenly everything shook, spun, whirled, swung, and then with a terrible crash and crash collapsed and fell silent. This apple of the worm could not bear the weight of the bird, the blows of its beak, fell off the branch and fell to the ground. Fell and split.

When the worm woke up, he saw that the bird was gone, but that his apple was also gone, it, broken and unusable, lay around him, that he was in the middle of the grass, and that black ants came running from all six feet to the remains of his apple, so that profit from fresh pulp. He wanted to run away, but saw that from the other side red ants were running towards his apple, even more terrible and biting than the black ones! The poor little worm realized that his inevitable death awaits! But he didn't want to give up! He saw that a huge burdock was growing nearby. And gathering its last strength, the worm climbed onto this burdock. Climbing to the very top, the worm crawled to the very edge of the burdock and began to watch what was happening below. And below there was a terrible battle of ants for the remains of his apple. Red and black ants stung each other, bit, tore off each other's legs, many of them were already curled up, and friends were dragging these wounded aside.

The battle continued for a long time, and the ants did not notice the worm above their heads. And the sun was already approaching sunset, and the worm understood that if he did not find refuge for himself, then of course he would not survive this night. Soon the ants began to scatter among their anthills, never having determined who would get the apple, and it was left to rot on the ground until morning. And the little worm decided, why would it be good to disappear, eat as much as I can and go to seek shelter. And as soon as he turned around to get off the burdock, he saw that a huge, terrible beetle was crawling towards him and, of course, in order to eat the poor fellow.
The worm was so scared that he could not even move! And the beetle crawled closer and closer. A couple more
moments, and he grabs the unfortunate worm! But suddenly the wind blew, and umbrellas flew off the dandelion that grew next to the burdock and rushed up. The umbrellas for the little worm were not umbrellas, but huge umbrellas, whole balloons! The wind carried them very close to the edge of the burdock, on which the worm was sitting. And when the claws of the beetle almost grabbed the worm by the belly, the worm grabbed the seed of one of the umbrellas with its teeth and soared into the air on this umbrella.

He climbed higher and higher, higher than the currant bushes, higher than the apple tree on which his apple house had recently hung, higher than the tall poplars. The little worm saw rows of human dwellings, squares of fields, a green sea of ​​a forest, a ribbon of a river and a huge red beautiful sun slowly setting over the horizon. Seeing the sun, the worm could no longer look at anything else. The sun enchanted the worm with its beauty and splendor. The worm so wanted to fly to him, to be even a little closer to him, but he could not. The wind carried the poor man along its paths. And the sun soon completely disappeared behind the horizon, only a dark red glow reminded of how stunningly beautiful it was just recently.

It grew darker and darker, and the worm, dangling at an unimaginable height with a seed in its teeth, became so sad, so lonely that it wanted to sing, scream and cry. And he also terribly, terribly, terribly wanted to eat the seed, because he was very hungry while he was flying. And as soon as he thought about it, his teeth closed very tightly and bit off the seed! What can you do, because he was just a worm, not a man, and if the worm wants to eat, then he immediately eats, and does not think. And so the worm, chewing its seed, flew down. He understood that he would definitely break, but how he liked to fly like a bird. He felt so free and so happy. And he began to sing! He sang about the great, beautiful Sun, about the green carpet of the forest, about squares-fields, about his apple tree, about a terrible bird, about his house-apple, about a beetle, about a battle of ants. The earth was getting closer and closer, and the worm sang and sang, sang and sang. No one heard him, but I assure you that he sang beautifully, as beautifully as no other nightingale has sung before, because not a single nightingale has experienced what this little worm has experienced, and not a single nightingale has been as free as this worm.

And the Earth was getting nearer and nearer, nearer and nearer ... The worm had already closed his eyes and prepared to break, but then he felt that something was happening behind him, something stretched out and trembled. The little worm turned around and saw beautiful hairy wings behind his back. They were the same fiery color as the setting sun, and on each wing there was a huge black eye, such that no bird would dare to approach a worm with such wings - the eyes would be frightened. It was clear that the Sun gave the worm these wings for his song! The worm swung another, third, and flew! Flew! For real. However, it was no longer a worm, it was already a real butterfly. Solar butterfly. Butterfly singer. Somewhere even now such a butterfly flies and sings songs about the Sun.

Look, Misha, ”said Lizanka, stopping near a flowering bush,“ someone has pasted cotton paper on a sheet of paper; isn't it you?

No, - answered Misha, - is it Sasha or Volodya?

Where can Volodya do this? - Lizanka continued, - look how skillfully these thin threads are stretched and how firmly they hold on to the green leaf.

Look, - said Misha, - there is something round!

With these words, the prankster wanted to pull off the pasted cotton.

Oh no! Do not touch! - cried Lizanka, holding Misha and looking closely at the leaf, - here the worm, you see, is moving.

The children were not mistaken: in fact, on a leaf of a flowering bush, under a light transparent blanket that looked like cotton paper, a worm lay in a thin shell. For a long time he lay there, for a long time already the breeze was rocking his cradle, and he sweetly dozed in his airy bed. The conversation of the children awakened the worm; he drilled a window in his shell, looked out into the light of God, looks - it is bright, good, and the sun is warming; thought our little worm.

That this, - he says, - I have never felt so warm before; it is evident that it is not bad in the light of God; let me move on.

Once more he knocked on the shell, and the window became a door; the little worm stuck its head in again, again, and finally, completely crawled out of the shell. She looks through her transparent curtain, and near him on a leaf is a drop of sweet dew, and the sun plays in it, and as if a rainbow glow falls from it on the greenery.

Let me drink some sweet water, - said the worm; stretched, but it was not there. Who is this? That's right, mama worm has attached the curtain so tightly, you can't even lift it! What to do? So our little worm looked, looked, and began to undermine first that thread, then the other; worked, worked, and finally the curtain went up; the worm crawled under it and drank sweet water. He has fun in the fresh air; a warm breeze blows on the worm, sways a trickle of dew and pours fragrant dust on it from the flowers.

No, - says the worm, - you can't deceive me forward! Why would I go under a stuffy blanket again and suck on a dry shell? I'd rather stay in the open; there are many fragrant flowers, many hooks are scattered over the leaves; there is something to cling to ...

No sooner had the worm uttered it, when suddenly it looked, the leaves rustled among themselves and the midges buzzed in alarm; the sky darkened, the sun itself hid behind a cloud out of fear; crows croak; ducks cackle; and then the rain poured down a downpour. There is a whole sea under the poor worm; a wave swept over the baby, a shiver ran over his thin skin; both cold and scared he felt. As soon as he came to his senses, he gathered strength and again, shaking his head, wandered under the cotton curtain, into his dear bed.

Here the baby has warmed up. Meanwhile, the rain stopped, the sun appeared again and scattered in small sparks over the raindrops.

No, - said the worm again, - now you can't deceive me; Why should I go out of my darling nest into the cold and dampness? You see, the sun is so cunning: it will lure you, it will warm you, but not, to protect you from the rain!

A day has passed, another has passed, and a third has passed. The little worm lies in a cotton blanket, waddles from side to side, sometimes sticks out its head, pinches the leaf and again into the cradle. Here he looks: the hairs on his body began to break through; in less than a week, the worm had a warm patterned fur coat. If you could see what flowers nature scattered over it! She girded it with red ribbons, planted yellow furry buttons along its length, and put black and green veins to its neck.

Ge! ge! - said the little worm to himself, - really, really, I have to lie in my bed for a century and look at the curtain? Is it really the only thing in this world? I must confess I am tired of the bed; cramped in her, boring. If I looked at the light, show myself; maybe I'm good for something else. Well, really, is it really to be afraid of rain? Yes, me, in my fur coat, and the rain is not terrible. Let me try, flaunt in my new outfit.

Here the worm raised the curtain again; looks: a flower has just blossomed over him; a drop of sugar honey from it and beckons the baby. The worm could not resist, got up, tightly wrapped itself around the neck of the flower and greedily kissed his new friend. Looks: above him another flower is even better than that; he goes to him; then another third, even better; they all whisper among themselves; play with the baby and sprinkle sticky honey into it. Our little worm started frolicking, forgotten ... Suddenly the wind blew and shook the worm to the ground.

Something will happen to our dandy, how to find his birthplace? However, he raised his head and looked around.

Well, well, he thinks, the trouble is not great yet; blundered so blundered! Another time science; there is no need for me to go back to the cradle. No, there is nothing to hold on to the cradle; it's time to live with your mind.

He said and crawled aimlessly. Here he crawled to the branch, plucked it - hard! He further - more, more and crawled to the sheet; tried it - delicious.

No, - said the worm, - now I'll be smarter, the breeze won't shake me off!

And he threw a cobweb behind the sheet.

He swallowed the sheet, dragged himself onto another, and then onto the third. Have fun worm! Whether the wind smells, it will nestle on the cobweb; Whether a cloud comes running, his coat is not afraid of rain; Whether the sun bakes strongly, he is under a leaf, and he laughs at the sun, a mocker!

But there were also bitter minutes for the worm. Then, he looks, the bird flies, stares at him, and sometimes it flies up, and his nose pushes him under the side. But the little worm is not a simpleton: he will pretend, hide, as if he were dead, and the bird is away from him. It was even more bitter than this: he dragged himself onto a new leaf, and looked, on it sits a large shaggy spider with hooks on its legs, moves its bloody mouth and stretches the net over the worm.

Sometimes evil people passed by the worm and said among themselves:

Ah, damn worms! Throw them all to the ground and trample them well!

The little worm, hearing such speeches, went into a deep thicket and did not dare to appear for days on end.

And sometimes Lizanka and Misha took him in their hands to admire his multi-colored fur coat; and although they were good children, they did not want to harm the worm, but they crumpled it so carelessly in their hands that then the poor worm, already barely breathing, crawled onto the dear branch.

Meanwhile, the summer has passed. Many flowers had faded, and heads with juicy grains rustled in their place; before the sun began to go down the hill, and more often than before the breeze blew, and more often it dripped with a large rain. Lizanka and Misha had already remembered their fur coats and were arguing about which one was better - theirs or the worm's. The little worm noticed that the leaves had already become not so fragrant and juicy, the sun was not so warm, and he himself had already become not so alive; everything in the world seemed to him not so comforting as before.

Well, he thinks, I've lived enough in the world, worked, experienced both sorrow and joy, drank both bitter and sweet dew, I flaunted a fur coat, made friends with flowers; not for a century to crawl in an empty way on the ground; it's time to be something better.

He descended from the leaf, stretched past the shiny drop of dew, remembered how its trickles amused him, the baby, and crawled further into the thicket of greenery. He began to look for a shady, modest place, far from noise and light; found him, took shelter and began important work in his life. When Lizanka and Misha found their little worm, they were very surprised that their old acquaintance did not eat or drink anything, and spent whole hours incessantly working on his business. What was the work of the worm? This work was important, dear children: the worm was preparing to die and was building a grave for itself!

Worked on it for a long time; finally, he took off his patterned fur coat, saying: "There will be no need for it," and fell asleep in a restful sleep. The worm was gone, only his lifeless coffin and his fur coat rolled into a ball were swinging on the leaf.

But the worm did not sleep long! Suddenly he feels - a new heart is beating in him, small legs have broken through from under the abdomen and something has stirred on the back; another minute - and his grave disintegrated. The worm looks: he is no longer a worm; he does not need to crawl on the ground and cling to the leaves; he has developed large, iridescent wings, he is alive, free; he rises proudly into the air.

This happens with more than one worm, dear children. You often see that the one with whom you frolicked and played together in the soft meadow tomorrow lies pale, lifeless; relatives and friends cry over him, and he cannot smile at them; they put him in a damp grave, and your friend is gone! But don't believe it! Your friend is not dead; his grave opens - and he, invisible to us, flies up to heaven in the form of a bright angel.

The ancients noticed this similarity between the transformation of a butterfly and the immortality of man, and therefore in their paintings and statues they depicted a man with butterfly wings - so that people would not forget that, having lived their days, having experienced sorrow and joy, again, like a butterfly, will return to new life, and that death is only a change of clothing. So, perhaps, you will meet the image of Plato, the sage of antiquity, with butterfly wings; he was portrayed in this way because he spoke more eloquently than others about the immortality of the soul and about life after death.