after smoking a thick roll-up after a hearty dinner and propping an old yellow saddle under his elbow, Uncle Mityai, my neighbor, who works as a groom on a collective farm, began his story like this: - even the old people from our neighborhood no longer believe in this story. They say that this is a fairy tale that was invented by their distant ancestors and has been told to children and toddlers ever since. But fairy tales were once legends, and they, in turn, were born thanks to the real events of our extraordinarily rich history, the events that took place in our region with our ancestors. And this fairy tale began with the fact that ... < / p> The birds stopped singing in the forest. And this forest was just fabulous. The red trunks of the pines rose so high into the sky that it seemed as if their tops were clouds, and the clouds were their tops. The upward movement of the trees did not interfere with the downward movement of sunlight. And in this stream of light, everything became transparent and pure. Even the stream running under the giant trees was not just a running stream of water, but an iridescent stream of rays and glare. The singing of the forest, stream, birds, light and air made my head spin. It was so good that it seemed like it couldn't be. Why would anyone be happy to feel all this? Or it can only happen before death. Everything was harmonious in this forest. But one day the birds stopped singing! Everything suddenly froze, became alert. Even the stream, which was always in a hurry, seemed to stop in surprise. The dogs were trying to see what had happened down there. They turned uncomfortably and blocked the path of the sun's rays. Dampness and darkness immediately whispered to each other, not even immediately daring to crawl out from under the driftwood and stumps. The air was filled with anxious anticipation. The wind stopped caressing and rolling the air. There was a smell of mold and fungi, mosses and lichens of all stripes swallowed up the flowering grasses and berry bushes. The trunks of the pines turned dark, and the yellow fallen leaves turned into dirty spots on the dirty gray grass.

and it didn't seem like it. It was real. Having lost the singing of birds, the forest has also lost interest in life. Something bad has happened in the world. And the reason for all this misfortune was an unfamiliar bird sitting on the edge of the forest, on a thick branch of a blackened aspen. She arrived here quite recently. No one asked or asked where she came from. There was simply no need. In such a beautiful place, there should be enough kindness, light, and warmth for everyone. As guests, she was given the necessary attention and respect: the table was hearty, and the place was not drafty. She took advantage of everything without shame. And when she had enjoyed this hospitality, she made such sweet speeches. She couldn't understand why everyone here was always chirping, clicking, and tweeting. In short, they're making a lot of noise for nothing. In an overseas country, from where she had the honor to walk, it is not customary and even considered indecent. They say their silence is worth its weight in gold. There was something mysterious and new about the strange bird. The new fashion for silence was spreading rapidly. And it doesn't matter who became the first parrot in this phenomenon. After a while, the birds in the forest just stopped singing. The world that had been created for thousands of years began to collapse before our eyes. As the temple chime cleanses the human soul, so bird songs purify this whole world. God only knows what would have happened next if it hadn't been for one morning a little bird, who still didn't understand anything about this stupidity of adults, suddenly, inspired by the savior of nature, began to sing a very simple and gentle song. And, thank God, imagine, everyone around you had enough to understand that this is wonderful, that this is their native and familiar, primordial. Everyone around me felt such power from this simple song that I wanted to support the baby bird. And so the whole world, which was about to end, suddenly thought about whether he would at least live to the end of this song. But everywhere everyone was so happy, chirping, tweeting, that it became clear that there would never be an end to this. And in this ringing of the stream, the sound of the wind in the treetops, the unforgettable bird chorus, one could not hear the disgusting cry of a strange bird. As my dear fellow countrymen used to say, an alien.

Laying his head on the saddle, Uncle Mitya yawned sweetly, stretched, and fell asleep immediately to the noisy snorting of the horses and the girlish chants coming from our lovely village.