What is powder? What is the powder? Synopsis of the lesson in the Russian language. The development of speech. Presentation of the text "Powder" (Grade 3) Powder is a faithful assistant to hunters

Play me blue wind
Today the song of the sea
And serenade the leaves
About joy and sorrow
And I will every evening -
I'm a weather vane on the roof
Play tag with the wind
And songs to sing inaudibly ...

2. WHITE VERSE

white joy
And white envy
White -
loneliness!
white happiness,
And white swans
White veil -
Purity!
clean page,
Canvas waiting -
Can window
to infinity?
white shroud
And calm -
The whitest
Eternity!

3. Timtilimchik

Density 1000 Hz - rose red,
Mars knocks with a conductor's piece of iron,
The chorus is in tune, the weather is beautiful,
Gin in a bottle, sliced sausage.
Left, right - spin, wheel,
skip fractures, apathy,
build bridges of hope and joy
from love to mutual sympathy.
She sang (experienced sunflower),
blinked a yellow eye at the conductor,
they say, ready, in free chants
praise the sun. And ... they thundered in unison!
Genie rushed about in a bottle with fear,
forgetting the magic of revelation.
-Listen, Hottabych, don't fight...

Through the birch groves

Nightingale trills

They resounded a long time ago.

Instead of a flute-pipe,

winter mage

Decorated the window with a pattern.

And funny fast

River waters

It froze, everything is in ice ...

And the moths fly

white,

Playing cheerfully with the wind.

In the yard - New Year!

And under a new flourish

At the Designated Hour,

Through the January forest will pass

ring-horned deer,

Accepting the Destiny and the Order,

And spinning in the dance

Glorious career.

stepping gracefully

By pure powder

Learning the Ways...

The snow is spinning like white powder,
Silver whiskey, blinding eyes.
Where are you, my youth, my past,
How to see and recognize you?

Maybe you sing your farewell song
Vegetating silently in the wind?
Maybe she was going on a long journey,
To return to my house?

I will see you in the sequel:
I will keep it in my son, daughter, grandchildren.
Life is like light - it is always in motion,
Breaks a rut into eternity.

Snowflakes fall, scatter
Bring me news from the past.
The future is known in great-grandchildren,
Youth...

Because of the distant forest
Dreams are good
The tombs will lay down
White powder.

Lie down with white lace
To your bed
Snowflake dreams are spinning:
Sleep sweet baby.

Sleep my darling
Sleep my beauty
Dreams will come to you
You will like dreams.

Outside the window a blizzard
Spinning in a white waltz
Creeps along the path
Scattering lace.

Then it will knock on the window:
Look around - who's there?
Then it will backfire into the pipe:
It's like someone is crying.

And the tired hurry
Late passers-by
Sleeping little kids
On the...

Autumn wind on the Soul at the height of summer,
Tears saddened foliage ...
A proven old sign
Gray clouds float across the sky...

The cold contrivedness of sadness
Planes the Soul, like a sharp cheese grater...
In empty doubts we missed
That which brings her to barren holes...

Autumn wind drives off-road
A prickly ball, clings to the bushes,
Yes, sprinkle with ice powder
Fastened to the anchor, the dawn of Dreams ...

We will patch up the gaps with warmth of the heart,
Love will melt the snow on the way ...
And anchor that sadness...

Like a maple leaf in autumn
Fly away into the darkness of the year.
The person from me is traveling
It will never work.

And there is no more banal story
Any simpleton will say this -
The person from me is normal
It won't work, no way.

I do not measure, do not think practical,
Live with people and with yourself in harmony.
I'm a good person
It won't work, unfortunately.

Truck loaded with powder
I'm stuck at some boundary.
I am a good person
You won't be able to know already.

I once promised my little son to take him hunting with me - to trail hares. And since then I have not been at peace. Every morning, at a little light, my son bursts into me:

Get up! Shall we go today? Good weather.

The weather is always good for him to go hunting. And trailing the beast, that is, searching for the tracks, is not convenient every day. The trail is different, depending on the weather.

I refuse to go, and my son whimper:

You don't want to again! After all, we are postponing and postponing ... When will we finally go?

And I came up with a military trick.

Listen, - I say, - my team!

He immediately hands at the seams.

There is, he says.

Well, don't wake me up in vain. In the morning, when you get up, the first thing to do is run to the garden. There in the snow you will read my order - to go camping or not.

There is, - he says, - to go out into the garden in the morning.

He went to bed, and I took a stick and left the house.

We have a house with a front garden. In winter, no one walks in the front garden. The snow falls there, and lies untouched. I stuck a stick through the fence and wrote in the snow block letters- My son is still small, he only understands in print:

DON'T WAKE TODAY!

That night I slept well: my son did not come to wake me up early. I got up, dressed and looked out the window. My window overlooks the front garden, and my inscription is visible to me directly from the room. The morning was grey, windless, warm: the thermometer outside the window showed a little above zero. The snow did not shine, it seemed dirty, like bad chalk. Dull, dull lay my order on the snow.

I rejoiced at my invention: after all, from this inscription I will see every day what changes are taking place with the tracks in the field.

The walls of the letters were melting, the letters blurred as if on a blotting paper. On such a gloomy day, fresh tracks quickly blur, and old tracks seem equally old.

I calmly sat down to work.

On the second day, my son again did not come to wake me up.

The morning was sunny; even from the night it was so cold that the snow became like marshmallow: a thick crust had dried up on top - crust. According to him, not only a light hare - a wolf, and he will not fail. And he won't leave any trace - except in some places he will scratch with his claws. My inscription seemed to have been scrawled on ice with a knife. The sides of the letters gleamed like cut metal. The pits filled with frozen grains. In such weather you will find only old footprints, there are no new ones.

And the third day did not bring anything good.

It was cold again, and even with the wind - a drifting snow. Dry grainy snow chalked on the ground - powdered traces. The letters are exactly who sprinkled table salt. A hare will go in the morning from the field where he fed, - from the fattening, - his traces will immediately be powdered.

How can you tell them apart from his evening footprints?

The son walked frowning, but was silent - the order remained in force.

I stayed up late that night at work. Lie down in the morning.

Climb! - suddenly someone shouted in my ear, as happened on military service. But something hurts too thin voice of the orderly.

I hardly opened my eyes.

Be alive! - shouted the son. - I already drink tea.

I just looked out the window and immediately became convinced that he had not lifted me in vain: on the window frame, on the fence, there was thick, plump, like cotton wool.

So, before dawn, dead powder fell.

So the hunters call the thick snow that fell at night - best helper pathfinder. He completely covers up all the old traces. In the morning, in the field, a dead white veil opens up to the eyes of the hunter. And only the freshest - morning - traces of animals are clearly imprinted in the new loose snow.

I was in such a hurry to hunt that I forgot to look at my inscription. Yes, and there was no point: it, of course, was just as skidded as all the old tracks.

In winter, it is difficult to see a hare - not only a snow-white hare, even a gray hare.

But as soon as my son and I left the cemetery, we immediately saw the trail of a hare.

I hear my son whispering quietly to himself verses of his own composition:

Paws from the rear heels

From the front patches

He already knows from me that a hare on the run brings its long hind legs ahead of its front ones. The trail from the rear is oblong, with a heel in front, from the front - round, like a patch, behind.

He himself went to die in the cemetery, - the son confidently reported. - Turn?

No, wait, - I warned, bringing the skis a little to the side. And took the gun off his shoulder. - After all, this is a hare trail, and a hare does not need thickets to lie down. Look: the trail broke off further. Then the hare made a deuce: he turned and went back in his wake. And here's the discount: he jumped to the side, wait a minute, didn't he lie down by that bush?

And as soon as we began to approach this bush, the black tips of long ears flashed behind it. I fired. A healthy rusachina jumped higher than a bush, rolled over his head and disappeared.

When we approached, he no longer jerked, buried in the snow.

Without difficulty, we dragged three more hares and one hare. But we managed to shoot only this hare: the rest safely escaped from us.

We found a long stick, tied both hares - gray and white - to it by the legs, and carried them home. I held the stick in my hand, the son put the other end of it on his shoulder.

At the very house we met a neighbor. He looked at our prey and said:

Delno! Tropili?

Tropili.

So. Good deal. I also teach my boy from young nails to look at different traces. Pathfinder-hunter and in war is always the first scout and partisan too.

The word "war" reminded me of my order in the snow.

But you still need to be punished, ”I angrily said to my son. - After all, the order was not to wake me!

It's not my fault," he said, not at all frightened. - What was left in the snow from the order, then I did.

How so? - I did not understand.

Look yourself.

I looked over the fence into the front garden. There in the bright sunlight only one short word shone dazzlingly in the snow:

There were no other letters.

I see, - the son explained, - every day the letters are getting worse. I took the board and covered these four letters so that the order would not freeze at all.

Small, small, and how cunning!

Powder (I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov)

Which hunter has not experienced this? joyful feeling! In the morning you wake up - a special, soft light is seen in the windows.

Powder fell out!

Even in childhood, we unforgettably rejoiced at the first snow. You ran out, it used to be, on the field behind the fence - such a sparkle, a dazzling whiteness would shine around! Fields, roads, sloping banks of the river are covered with a festive tablecloth. Forest edges are drawn on a white veil of snow. White fluffy hats hang on trees. Sounds, distant voices seem special, clear.

You go out into an open field - it hurts your eyes from the snowy sparkling whiteness. Hare, fox, bird tracks are painted on the white tablecloth of snow. At night, hare-hares fed on winter crops, "fattened". In many places, almost to the very ground, snow has been trampled down; fresh greenery is visible under the icy crust of snow. A hare stomped slowly along the winter at night. Scattering round nuts of litter on the trail, he sat down every now and then, pricking up his ears, sensitively listening to the stillness of the night.

Even an experienced hunter finds it difficult to understand the confused writing of night tracks. In order not to waste time, he passes along the edge of the winter field. Here, at the edge of the forest, along the slope of the ravine, a neat fox trail stretches in a long line. In the clearing, overgrown with juniper bushes, surrounded by birches, black grouse apparently roamed. Lumps of fluffy clean snow are scattered along the crossed chains of fresh footprints. Heavy birds take off with a noise and, dropping crumbly snow caps from the branches, hastily sit down on the distant bare birches...

Going to lay, the hare is cunning, winding, doubling and building tracks, making cunning estimates. An experienced hunter vigilantly looks at the terrain, at the hare loops and marks, at the bushes covered with snow and the forest edge. A sharp-witted hunter almost unmistakably guesses the place where the hare lay down. From your hiding place, pressed to your back long ears, the hare follows the movements of the person. In order not to spoil the matter, the hunter should not go straight to the laying ground, but should pass sideways and vigilantly, look at both. It often happens that a hare imperceptibly "flutters" from its bed, and on a cold "chasing" trail, an unlucky hunter will guess that a cunning hare has cheated him, left from under his very nose.

Trailing hares on fresh, soft powder, I have always considered the most interesting winter hunting, requiring endurance, great observation and patience from the hunter. Impatient, fussy and greedy hunters better not to take on such a hunt. Such amateur hunting is rarely prolific - sometimes you have to walk for a long time to trail and shoot a hare. And now there are few lucrative places left where many fearless hare have survived.

For a real, that is, not greedy and not fussy, hunter, hunting in the first winter powders gives a lot of pleasure. A wonderful winter day, light and pure powder, on which traces of birds and animals are clearly imprinted, winter air is transparent and fresh. You can wander for a long time through the fields and forest edges, understanding the intricate writing of night tracks. If the hunt turns out to be unsuccessful and the tired hunter returns home without any prey, the unforgettable day of winter powder will remain joyful, bright in his memory!

Which of the hunters has not experienced this joyful feeling! In the morning you wake up - a special, soft light is seen in the windows.

Powder fell out!

Even in childhood, we unforgettably rejoiced at the first snow. You ran out, it used to be, on the field through the gate - such a sparkle, a dazzling whiteness would shine around! Fields, roads, sloping banks of the river are covered with a festive tablecloth. Forest edges are drawn on a white veil of snow. White fluffy hats hang on trees. Sounds, distant voices seem special, clear.

You go out into an open field - it hurts your eyes from the snowy sparkling whiteness. Hare, fox, bird tracks are painted on the white tablecloth of snow. At night, hare hares fed on winter crops, “fattened”. In many places, almost to the very ground, snow has been trampled down; fresh greenery is visible under the icy crust of snow. A hare stomped slowly along the winter at night. Scattering round nuts of litter on the trail, he sat down every now and then, pricking up his ears, sensitively listening to the stillness of the night.

Going to lay, the hare is cunning, winding, doubling and building tracks, making cunning estimates. An experienced hunter vigilantly looks at the terrain, at the hare loops and marks, at the bushes covered with snow and the forest edge. A sharp-witted hunter almost unmistakably guesses the place where the hare lay down. From its hiding place, with long ears pressed to its back, the hare follows the movements of a person. In order not to spoil the matter, the hunter should not go straight to the laying ground, but should pass sideways and vigilantly, look at both. It often happens that the hare imperceptibly “flutters” from its bed, and on the cold “chasing” trail, the unlucky hunter will guess that the cunning hare blew him up, left from under his very nose.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov

Russian language lesson in grade 3

Subject: The development of speech. Presentation of the narrative text "First Powder" (According to I. Sokolov-Mikitov)

Target:

develop the ability to convey the content of the text according to a collectively drawn up plan;

write words with studied spelling;

expand vocabulary and lexical stock of words

Planned results:

Subject: they will learn to convey the content of the text according to a collectively drawn up plan, write words with studied spellings, expand their vocabulary and lexical stock of words.

Personal: learn to recognize their capabilities in learning; will be able to adequately judge the reasons for their success or failure in learning, link success with efforts, diligence.

Lesson type: combined

Equipment: TV, laptop, presentation.

During the classes

I. Organizing time.

Creating a favorable psychological mood

- Let's smile at each other. May today's lesson bring us all the joy of communication. Today in the lesson you will find new discoveries, an interesting cognitive text, and attention and hard work will help you.

II. Motivation of educational activity.

1. Today we will write a summary. To find out what the text will be about, you need to replace the expression with one word

First, onlyWhatdropped outsnow - P ABOUT ROSHA - (V.Dal)

2. Demonstration of powder paintings. (slides)

ІІ І . Updating the basic knowledge of students.

Introduction to the text. Define the text type.

First powder

Powder fell out! Hare, fox, bird tracks are visible on the white tablecloth of snow. An experienced hunter vigilantly looked at the area.

Here a hare trampled on winter, cunning, dodging, listening to the silence of the night. At the edge of the forest, a fox trail stretched out in a line. On the light powder from the birch, there are traces of squirrels. She hid in the top of a tall spruce.

Today the hunter returned home without any prey. But the day of the first powder remained in my memory joyful and bright.

What is said in the first paragraph (introduction)?

(slide show)

Vocabulary work:

POrosha, on the slopeerti snegov, inAndbottoms, forIhbor withband, birdsband sledy,Ohunter, zorkO, k monthTness. (slide show).

Planning. Think of a title for the first paragraph.

Plan

The powder fell out.

What is the second paragraph about?

Vocabulary work:

BehindIc-rusak, by ozAndmi, xAndtril, pesmolder, listenAndfell to tAndtire, lesleepOguns, by the wayGcoy pOroche, from beryohki, inedut sledy, sATAslid into theershine. (slide show).