The magic forest alley

(Stories)               
            

1.IN  THE THICKET OF THE BIRD CHERRY TREES
 

It was the time, when I travelled along the  Earth. 
What can be better, than to have a walk in woods, though in winter, though in summer?
Here I sit once on the edge of the cliff among  pine  giants and indulge myself  by the tea. It was with leaves from  cowberry.  Earlier I hardly tried more tasty drink, if only  the tea with additions of  peppermint.
By the way, I do not forget to glance at the  local marsh not far from me.
It has become rather turbid in the cool attack of the morning fog, has
gurgled not loud, however scarcely mighty tails of greater fishes have started to baste the water there. More likely there have been various amphibia there, which have played theirs infinite games.
The mossy  champaign and the terrible holes under the water are in front of me. There is the bottomless  green field near the cliff, you can make appraisal of  it. Also the marsh, apparently,  is very big,  as its end is not seen in this day at all. From the island there is only one road, if you have desire to go to people. It is laid through the antiquated log-path. The woodblocks squish under legs, and the traveller  should think again and again, where it is necessary to go.
My transistor was under the arm.  Are there some interesting news in the world?
The earthquake is  in mountains, in the south of the country.  It is rather far from my  tea today, however the broadcaster  speaks:  in my native city the chandeliers  are shaken in apartments. Pictures were skewed on walls. There is the huge power  at this earthquake! Though  my house  settles down in  steady parallels,  all the same...
As  to me... really is it not awfully for the walls of the native house?
I blow onto my boiling water,  take the sip of the nice drink, but  I do not feel the taste: mentally various pictures stand in front of me …

*      *      *

Streets in the small town are all in camomiles and burdocks.
Ducks  splashed in puddles along lanes near the river.  They comminuted by beaks the juicy duckweed in water.  With pleasure they afforded  to exchange remarks loudly.
-  It is good fortune, when the city has a lot of puddles on the streets!
-  O, it is not bad at all,  if there is a lot of the duckweed in puddles!
As to the little dry street,  which was covered by  last year's poplar foliage, this cosy lane was chosen by hens.  The cock, having a walk close by  painted fences, time after time pushed its head into the cracks between rods and pecked poppies in the gardens. Herewith  it spoke:
-  All plants of the gardenplot are very useful to the stomach. Be assured, they help us to digest any food.
There were the low small houses under red tegular roofs in the small town. Some of them were under grey sheets of slate, however they did not diminish beauty:  the streets were here not only cosy, all of them were also very nice.
Dahlias took pains to ascend almost everywhere near the fences in the gardens, if to get accustomed. When they blossomed, the streets were…some by rosy, and others by white. To put it briefly, there was any beauty, and it was a lot of beauty:  not to put into words.
On the main square  the creaky wooden swing  stood and took pains to creak always carefully.  Inhabitants considered,  it served as an adorrnment of  the small town, but also it  helped to have fun:  anyway for all, who liked to have a walk on this beautiful place, the swing was more, than merely interesting thing.
If to tell, that faddists lived in the small houses under the red roofs, also under other roofs, it would be wrong.  At all not cranks lived there, but just indispensable  fanciers of  vegetable beds  and  branchy  cherrytrees.
Year after  year  they continued to reside beside the musical creak of the city swing  so: not  too loudly,  but just exclusively stilly and peacefully.
How many inhabitants were in the small town? Here it was impossible to diminish them or to add: there was a bit of citizens. As many as it was possible  in order that to know one another by names.
And if  it was exactly so, they, of course, knew each other very well.
In weekdays,  as ages ago local rules were established,  owners of the small houses worked, however on Sundays  - oh, no doubt!  -  they had necessarily a nice rest on the merry main square of the city.
Besides  it was accepted on days off to walk along  the local small streets. What for? Just in order that  to go and consider  any dahlias in front  of the gardens at neighbours: whose flowers do look more beautifully? To the town dwellers it was interesting also to listen the cluck of the hens and the quack of the ducks.
It would proceed year  in,  year out. But the little town has begun to reflect once: why am I such small?  Did not the time come for me,  did not come to become greater to me?
And as soon as it has thought so, then at once has started to grow. Grassy lanes have decided to assume a dignified air. As soon as they have solved, without delay have quickly turned to the asphalted streets.
The most noticeable, in green high poplars, most beautiful   little street unfolded to the full: and it was far into the sides,  and it would be good, if it unfolded  further,  however there was no place. 
This street has not only widened, it was stretched very studiously and has grown such unusually long, that to be more longly  would be impossible.
It, when you will get accustomed, became now, as the wide avenue.
If to speak fairly, the little street has taken and has turned to the main city highway with its footpaths, lampposts and shops.
Here along asphalt cars have already rushed, having shined by varnish.  Some of them were white and black, however some of them were dark blue and even cerise.
The roofs of the houses have risen high:  not up to the tops of the trees, but they were above much more,  were just under the clouds.
All of them  have grown up and have started to bathe amicably in shaggy cotton wool of the clouds. Now  -  you will want to look, will not want to look intently  -  it is difficult to notice anything:  it is impossible to tell, what color  though of tile, though of roofing slate are at them, at these roofs.
Maybe, there overhead all is suffused by black pitch.  And the such thing can happen no doubt.
There are windows overhead…  there are windows, windows …
The floors were piled up one on another so, that you could not see the end  though to windows, though to floors. Yes, here the city became just such. And if to say, the small town  was now  completely another all the same, then it would be not right!
It has happened so, this unassuming little town  has wanted  once to be very high,  has decided to  be greater, very solid:  has taken and has turned into the considerable megalopolis.
Where are the ducks, the wooden swing on the square? Where  are the dahlias in front of the wooden houses ?
Cars rush along  the highways, along the wide long streets.
Each machine affords to howl, because has the strong motor.  Any car loudly cries:  I am the fastest here, you must give me the way immediately!
When the city is filled by various machines, all  inhabitants have to look at asphalt of the highways with anxiety.  People are squeezed on sidewalks, they should not jaywalk on crossroads. It is necessary to be very attentive: though  a swanky car,  though a big lorry, each of them can beat you by a bumper.
It is good, certainly: traffic lights tries to help to pedestrians, when winks by a yellow eye, and also by a green eye or by a red eye.  However  each pedestrian citizen  must keep eyes open compulsorily, when he is on crossroads, because today all machines are too hasty.
Lifts rattle in these houses, taking pains to elevate people to heavens.
In the rumble of the big city it is not audible all, that was in the little town: the quack of the ducks,  the cluck  of the hens,  the creak of the wooden swing.
There is no grass. It has hidden almost everywhere under asphalt. Where is the small river? Now to it is allowed to flow only in a concrete pipe under the ground.
After all it has turned out: in weekdays , also on holidays  the local inhabitants had possibility to listen only the noise and the incessant voices:
-  Give me the way!
Soon the city was tired. It is not easy to be very big.
It had desire to become small in order that to cherish the flowers in  the gardens, to spray the poplar foliage in the autumn over the silent streets   and the roofs of the small houses .
It has been not against to treat the  ducks with the curly grass, to creak by the wooden swing. Also the city has not wanted to abdicate from the pleasure, having dropped  its breast to the river slope, to drink very long the fluvial pure water.
And what should it make in order that  to become small?
The big city has started to shrink, having tried to be compressed very strongly.
But... a pretty business! The streets, which were filled by concrete and asphalt,  were not compressed in this case. Also there was not a box among these tall houses, was  not even one box, that would have desire to decrease.
Walls of apartments  have begun to shiver with fever, and all  electric chandeliers, which have been attached to ceilings,  have decided  to rock with effort. Pictures, which have hung in beautiful frames on walls,  have started to move to the left or to the right.   
People have run out from the houses.
They asked each other: what did it happen?
Whence  could they know, that the big city  had desire to be the small little town?
Nobody spoke earlier: the big city, it is impossible for you  to turn to the  small  town. This cannot be done, even if all utensils will shatter in the apartments of the high buildings.
And when all utensils turn to the trash everywhere, then… what does it mean? There is an earthquake here.
Therefore  it happened in this time here:  someone decided to explain something to the restless big city. Yes, to be greater is not easy. But  to people it is very bad, when the stones of the  houses turn to the  dump and  the wide streets become the curved alleys.
Listen, the big city! About your dreams…it is not necessary to turn to the small town. For people, who live in the high buildings and like to walk along the local avenues, it is the bad dream to have any earthquakes.
There is no need in them, such unexpectedly loud, and remember it, please.

* * *

Yes, there were the mental pictures, however  they did not fly away: the not superfluous thoughts were continuing in my head.
The forest was there, I went among the trees, big and small,  and what my thoughts were about?  It is high time… oh, it is high time for people to learn! We need to foresee the earthquakes.  In order that it would be possible to avoid henceforth greater troubles.
To learn the nature  is not simply interesting. It is really necessary.
It is at all not bad for us to realize up ultimately a place of the cultural, comprehensively educated, industrially mighty person in the planetary life.

* * *

Now already I am not the longstanding  traveler, who  likes to wander in woods. However the big cart of the thoughts were not reduced at me, the ideas did not pass with age.
The third thousand  years of the new era has begun.  In  the life of people it is a lot of problems, all of us have right to think about some vital things,  do not it?
There are many earthquakes on our planet as always, and we know about them.  Therefore …
Today  my thoughts are  concerning  city, again they are directed towards city.
And how did I study in this case, how did it happen, that I started to think about needs of the terrestrial nature and needs of the people,  living on our planet?
In the adolescence often it was necessary to be in the village, on the homeland of my mother. There were  big champaigns there, and the  field near our village  especially  was stretched widely.  All field could not be seen with half an eye:   the rye sea was such greater. To put it briefly,  the little local stream began to wash away the coast of the river bend, approaching stealthily to the brick walls of the dairy farm.
And then it was  told to the carefree stream: listen, the brother! you should know,  that your jokes are  supervacaneous for us!  Once on morning dew  two tractors, which had huge iron knives in front of motors, appeared near the coast of the river.
They cut off edges of the ravine just so:  the layer behind the layer. Huge knives, which were polished  by the ground up to the shine, entered into clay, as if into gentle home butter.
This clay slipped to the coomb in order that to become there by the weir, and the clayey dam  was increasing, soon it was already  noticeably above. To the evening dew, which has fallen together with the fog onto the green meadow, behind the farm there has been the high dam, firmly having connected  the edges of the local ravine.
It was such conscientious,  fine, that all  children of the village have run together onto the dam in order that to see the big clayey lasher and to admire.
They cosed on the crest of the weir and, making a din as if a bevy of birds was there, began to wait,  when the pond would be filled. But the streamlet did not hasten to gladden spectators. All was fine,  however they  needed to have in mind, that the summer  did not have a rest for the present, it stood sufficiently surefootedly and the sun shined very strongly. How was it to the weak rivulet not to  languish on such heat,  not to be lazy at all?
For all day it had enough ability to form only a puddle.  The boys, having rolled up trousers above knees,  have wandered along the shallow water,  herewith  all of them were sprinkled in the din of cheerful squeal,  and thereafter they have gone home.
Someone was to make more crumbly the soil in cucumber beds. For someone  the order was:  to pour out the water from the rural drawwell into a cask.  In order that to do indispensable watering of all cabbage before the sunset. Before the twilight will embrace kitchen gardens.
It was entrusted to one boy  with choping  the firewood for the home furnace. In order that to bake cheesecakes in the oven to next morning. As to another it was not patience there not to run to the rural stable and not to look at foals.
They need to have time to do a lot of various things: to read a  book, to see a movie  and to disport by merry hideandseek.
The middle of the summer has passed, the hot month, that has been filled by the urgent cares,  has flown off, as if a fast fluffy cloudlet.
One week goes after another. The children,  of course, have forgotten to think about their  piddling swimming pool.
However nearer to the autumn they had desire to glance into the ravine. How not to be surprised! Where is the puddle? There is now only the big pond here. Waves  are on its surface. They are low, but all above, than those, which are on the narrow little river. Many years  the soniferous stream  gladdened nightingales in the thicket of  bird cherry trees.  But  the fluvial waves were always very small,  very quiet earlier. What did it happen now? In the ravine it did not become  worse, than before. Even it was better.
So, what lesson was in the end for the rural children and for me including?
It is possible for people to intervene into a life of ravines and woods, mountains and fields. It is quite possible. Only it is necessary to do very responsibly the indispensable work. In order that the terrestrial nature would not be damaged. It is not superfluous: our care concerning own existence and unobstructed existence of terrestrial flora and fauna.


2. THE  MAGIC FOREST ALLEY

The history,  which I tell about,  can not appertain to  detective stories, but there is something in it, that speaks: any fact has some reason. I think, it is necessarily to reflect on my narration, if you the person, not unconcerned with  interesting things in nature.
For my observations all was begun from a telefilm, that showed to spectators the sights of one beautiful forest alley near my city. What did I see suddenly? The life-giving light fell onto the ground through the curtain of translucent tops of high trees. The path under the nice greenish marquee  lasted, lasted very long, and for you it was the accost   to have a walk here in luxury of rest.
In the meantime the narrator adduced any figures, the facts,  he named various surnames: to put it briefly,  the television set distributed the information concerning to this birchen miracle. All has passed  by  the consciousness at me, but I have suddenly caught something familiar.
Now I begin to gaze. That is I try not to be apathetic, to look more steadfastly, to listen more carefully. To me soon it became clear: the modest small house of our family stood  near  to this magic-fine avenue. But  it has been necessary infrequently to come there, therefore I have not learned native places.
It will be impossible not to see the alluring alley, the long row of the trees with white cortex , if you will get out of the city on the highway, and  will reach the not big suburban settlement, and will go by fences to the small village, leaving on the right the green field. Here it is the tall birchen forest not far away!
However the purpose of our travel is not the village. It is possible  not to go there, it is simply quite good, when you get pleasure to have a walk along the forest alley. Here also the author of this narration  walk mentally.  I recollect, how the announcer with enthusiasm has begun to talk to all of us about kind fanciers of the nature.
The children of the local settlement were greater amateurs of the nature, therefore  chose the beautiful forest avenue for theirs necessities. What did they make there?  They did little homes for birds and hung them on the trees.
There were inhabitants of small houses here:  more, than it would be usually.  On the forest avenue they had the right  to lodge in exuberance, therefore  in spring the bird's songs rang all around. It was loudly, gaily, fervently,  and  I liked these roulades.
The television set spoke truly!
I have heard  the warbles of nightingales each warm evening.  It was noticed by me once a bevy of tomtits.  It  was impossible not to be delighted by these  brisk birds. I have started to throw  crumbs of  bread for them.
What was further? 
Near our house we have hung up  packages from milk, having cut out preliminary in them  little manholes, and have filled these mangers by various food.
Also there was such thing:  I  picked up one very nice son in bushes once, it was the loud infant, this son of  magpie. It, probably,  has dropped out of  the  jack and has come to be "aground".  Our family has named it Greg. 
We kept it in a cardboard box and regularly offered for a dinner something. I tried to entertain to brandlings, and  never it  refused to have a bite.
Then, when gumptious Greg  has learned to fly, I have continued to feed up our volant  infant.  It has planned from high bushes, has tried to sit down to me on the shoulder in order that to get something tasty. But soon the nestling  has been already stronger and has grown bolder: it has left us, because has had desire to cognize the world. We have not become already necessary to the son of magpie.
I hope, that its way will be happy.
Also the local children, understanding the needs of theirs volant friends, did the mangers for the birds, which lodged in the beautiful forest alley.
Thereafter  in the nook of the forest with its sonorous avenue various living creations suddenly appeared. In couple of years I recieved possibility,  looking at local inhabitants of the grove, to be astonished.

*  *  *

The alley, when  the tops of  the trees came nearer, began to protect puddles on the path from the hot sun.  It is known, the wood reserves the water. Our grove could nourish itself, herewith it was possibility for others to make use of the moisture.
The trees rose quickly. Why should not they grow up high into the air and also in breadth, if the fast birds give no one climb-down:  though for  harmful beetles, though for gluttonous caterpillars? In shadow now frogs were glad, because theirs life was more moist and immeasurably more capable.
If you will walk along the magic avenue in the beginning of hot summer,  then will notice: in puddles the froggy caviar affords to swim, eradiating lacteal shine. Henceforward local  little hollows on the path, where was water,  could dry up with a speed, that was definitely slowed down, and now all this gave to frogs, just now nascent and small,  to have  the true chance to survive.
The such has happened: the children have built the flavorful houses  on the trees for the volant friends, and it has been also for behoof of the frogs. The good echo has sounded, has not it?
In winter the echo has sounded not less loudly. There was  one visit to me, there was the meeting, when it was not necessary to wait some exceptional visits.
Already on skis the  children  had the treat to run along snowdrifts, and on toboggans they carried each other along a footpath  of the local settlement. As suddenly, quite unexpectedly a snowbreak happened in the middle of the winter.
It has gone to establish  its order in winter. That for the snowbreak  is not so, and another is bad. It has taken away fluffy snows in ravines. If you will look at  outskirts of the wood,  there  as though morsels of  porous salt lay.
Was that so:  the short shy  snowbreak has happened? No! Rise in temperature, selfreliant and long-term,  has come.
The whole greater event in the hibernal wood!
Well! As to trees…  all is clear here.  If there will be a severe frost, where will poor asps and maples run to? Where can firs and pines skulk? They should stand, suffer, in spite of the cold wind, that affords to blow strongly.  When herewith ruthless ice grains  strew from the sky, then all is bad. The tree is not a frog:  having the biggest desire, it will not go into a pond, will not bury itself in a soft ooze.
I have approached to the maple, that  has been behind my cellar in the garden, and carefully have looked at the wet tree. Thereafter it has come to my mind to sympathize  with the poor  creature:
-  If you, my dear maple,  would be a frog, then  would doze now somewhere in deep pond. Who were well arranged for the winter, just they  were,  local  big-eyed green beauties with solid tummies.  All of them sleep calmly and  feel  nothing, any disquietudes are not for them. As they say, without long back legs they rest.
The maple  waggled with all long branches, which were besprent by transparent droplets of moisture, and was silent.
It, poor my pal, can not answer, and what to tell,  if the tree will manage to find suddenly capable cleverness? My words about the artful frogs  are not empty, they have the right to be in my narrative and to be called just  the naked truth.
In this moment I have heard a grumbling  behind the door of my cellar. A kind of the gabbling plopping, not  too quiet and not too glad, has been there.
As to the cellar, it settled down close by the fence and was capacious enough. After summer deals, when vegetables were taken from it in the late autumn,  this rather humid accomodation was almost  empty.
Who does contradict me from our underground building?
I have removed the latch, have opened the wet door. Well, let us have a talk without exasperation!   What  dare-devil has settled down in the not cosy shelter?
So, what did I see? The debater was not there at all, just there was the green beauty with the solid tummy, there was the amphibious creature, which had ardent desire to jump there and here. It did not think absolutely to sleep in the winter.
The frog  jumped out of water,  climbed over the stair and  had a look interrogatively at me.
The ox-eyed green creature inquires  with inner meaning.  The owner of the garden cellar! What do you  afford to speak  about frogs? Not all  of us sleep in the winter. I, for example, have got into the warm underground dwelling. Because in this place it  is always not bad for me.  In the local water I swim, herewith assemble by my long language any settlements of gnats from brick walls. And nothing  happens:  I stay all the time in my habitual kind health. The frost is not terrible here. And when the summer will come, I shall get into a nearby pond.    
Yes, here  you will not tell the superfluous: in the village really there is rather capacious impoundment. Someone has solved, it means,  to do a stop at my garden cellar. I understand, it is at all not bad to arrange a respite on the way from the wood into more safe habitat.
It will take place: the winter will go away. When the spring will come, then you, the beautiful traveller, will know. At us in the fence there are  rifts. It will be possible for you freely to do jumpings along the path into the rural pond.

*  *  *

It turned out, that  the birchen  alley came to life on all azimuths, was filled with the new forest habitants. Now it  looked younger with the negotiation of the stаrlings, with the indefatigable warbles of the nightingales. There was a lot of hedgehogs in this nook of the wood.  Here hares run willingly, they come running sometimes even to our outskirts.
And about persistent young prospectors, about adroit builders of the bird's  houses... really did not they feel:  blissfully in truth the local stay for the green world, for the inhabitants of the forest alley?
Granting care to the nature, really did not these prospectors help... did not the assistants of the forester  help to the celebration of the life? Also was not the triumphant avenue included as youthful force into hearts of young people?   
In my opinion, just the magic alley has found its place in responsive hearts. It was not difficult to see: mutual gravitation of souls commenced to be amplified here. If not the adoration, then the interested attention there was undoubtedly, and  I could understand it.   
Oh, this song, not knowing defeats in centuries! The pure and silent, sincere and benevolent melody.  Also these words, unexpressed, herewith sounding softspokenly, because  youthful feelings, which were not made-up, found themselves too visible!
What melody do I speak about? My mention, as you guess, is a metaphor.  However there is not a secret, often I could notice here bicyclists. They  cycled along the paths, and if young people were on a celebratory, at all not outlying  departure from walls of the local school, then anybody could wish to them: happy  way to an adult life!    
The long track, that is well visible from wheels of bicycles between the birchen trunks... The life-givingly fine light, flowing down through the muslin of foliage… The mysterious silence, in which the soul stretches to another soul…
Having rustled by all tyres, bicycles - I look again! - have begun to rock on hardly noticeable undulations of the path. As if  they have started an ancient dance, where movements are smooth and pathetic in wonderful manner.
Both the light-orange and the light-green herewith float almost inaudible. One from another  rustles, goes at all not so,  that to be close, however not  very far. As if the ships float, going by a parallel course,  in an environment of birches, these spectators, for which the bicycle dances can not be bothersome ever.
The light-green is cautious. It takes pains not to drive to the side of the fallen  bough, forasmuch as to go round on a long arc is  better here. Having braked,  it will pass by the clayey hillock  with the smallest speed, because  that can shake the headmost wheel enough strongly.      
This bicycle is herewith not too staid: loves fast driving, how it is necessary to the reliable steel machine.
But you can see well, that here there are its certain considerations. As they say, my heart misgives me, when there are punctures of tyres and  when wheels become too convoluted. It loves concentration in driving: though on soft turns, though on abrupt turnrounds. Also that can be noticed, how the light-green is inclined to the neighbourhood of the light-orange.
However it is necessary to look after the light-orange, playful and waggish:  to watch  even more, than carefully, as this companion is too inordinate, hot in addition to any necessity.
All the time it aspires anywhere to the side:  there to a sharp bough,  here  to a cunning hillock of the path. It is necessary to give promptings, to constrain the neighbour, setting a rhythm of the movement, not allowing valiantly to jump on various hummocks and to shirk aside. There are  difficulties, of course, with the light-orange.  However all is interesting .
And then … the force is visible in the dashing orange lines!               
It is pleasant to understand, that the bright orange lightning  can be put on the needed place by one word. In order that to make the lightning obedient, benevolent, also to give more nous to it and …
These two should learn a lot of  helpful things, including laws of the reasonable life.
In fact the magic forest alley  was not before. The simple footpath was in this wood. People liked the place, they began more frequently to go here in order that to have a walk among the birches.
And there, where the narrow path was,  the fine avenue appeared.
I am the old writer. The right  at me was, that to invent history of any modest forest trackway. In the evening  I have taken a pencil once. There is it here, that has turned out on the paper of the  storyteller.

* * *
               

Modest forest Track  had not more important employment,   than to lay in legs of curly birches and slender firtrees.
Green foliage of trees took pains to convince it by the hardly audible whisper in behoof of  daily evening walks. Prickly needles of pines  looked at it, too uncommunicative, from above with disapproval.
White-headed dandelions spoke about  Track:
-  It lays, as if stuck, and does not go anywhere. However  in fact to have a walk in our wood  is interesting.
Track was unstirred.
Yes, someone  looked  at it disapprovingly, and quiet whispers about it were  continuously.  No secret was, that  all of them  thought, but nevertheless  it did not hasten to escape and did not hurry up to be justified.
This disobedient creation was engaged. It worked with sedulity.
Track labored: though in the daytime, when suddenly solar beams showed through  the foliage of filberts, though at night, when the beam of a lonely electric small lantern  abuted against nodose roots,  those roots, which  got out of  the cold crude clay to the fresh air.
« You will not be good for all local inhabitants,  -  Track afforded to reflect. -  There is a lot of any hazels, a lot of  any dandelions in the wood .  All of them around are too clever. And  to walk from one place to another place constantly is not very well, if I have to work each day,  each night. »
What did it dream about?
Track  -  let it will be immodestly  -  wished to become the present country road. It was firmly known to the disobedient creation: to lay was the necessary thing for any paths. Therefore to  lay, as if you are glued,  always will be its vital  avocation.
“All attend  to the forest road:  heavy boots of tourists, for example, also easy sandals,  high overshoes and rubber boots. Regularly they set you on the right channelization. And you must cling for some clayey hillock in this time, do not  have to escape aside even from a gnarled pine root and to welcome herewith any small puddle, that will accumulate after a rain!”
Maybe, someone  will decide, that the situation a little strange. However Track pondered the situation with assiduousness and thought about  itself  just so.
Meanwhile  days continued to go, uninterruptedly they slid from the East onto the West  by fast day-stars  under the got routine of twenty four hours.
Also various events were current in the wood. As they say, it was not without that.
Oaklets have taken roots by chance and  calmly began to grow in the light-green birchen forest. Probably, it would be for them better elsewhere: in first turn they were expected by own oaky groves. But nevertheless these teenagers liked to stand  just here, close by Track.
Here it was just a bit more loudly, just a bit more merrily. You may understand  these things, because the youth is always not against of  vivacious companionship.
It means, that  any cheerful representation will be pleasure for youths. For them it is the joy  to curve each day in the  belt and to show  theirs remarkable plasticity. There is an opportunity also to brandish  by the magnificent hairstyle: let it fly to one side, to another.
Oh, they were very companionable, these young creations:  willingly were soaring up  by all  long branches with  a slightest moving of air!
It was clearly, what things were loved by them most of all, but what did not they love? Dislike at them  was  serious, such, that to anyone, though serious and solid, dislike was in the continuous edification: be sure, they had the habit to give necessarily the prompting: "Hey, you there! Not to jump from one place to another, is it perspicuously to you? You need to comport here well!"
There were the oaklets just such here.
Therefore... no doubt, not any young creation could support the white-headed dandelions in the reason of their levity.
Observational Track considered: “The oaklets  are my friends in all times.”
But Plantain, persistent and very faithful,  was for it, the unappreciated onealoner,  by the best friend: did not depart from Track on a step. Plantain had the habit to climb up onto hillocks after Track, to fall into dells. And having a rest, it did not forget herewith to drink from each small  puddle.
Plantain has disappeared usually in the winter, however necessarily every spring  it has appeared again, though on a hillock,  though in a small dell near a new little puddle.
-  I respect with you,  -   grateful Track has told to it somehow in the spring. -  You will not depart for a sweet life onto a meadow,  how these talkative dandelions do.
-  Me with you it is good,  -  the true friend has answered.  -  You are very capable to run without hurry in our wood.  I like, when your  jogging continues and continues from a hillock to a hillock.  Let us be joyful together in the further too.
It has happened once: the heel of the hastening traveller has trodden on the leaf of  Plantain so, that the true friend of Track was dented into the soil almost entirely.
Then the time  has come for the strong rain. Track  has been glad: the apposite case! It has pushed out the captive from the horrid pit.
The leafs of Plantain have been liberated. It, joyful and happy, has started to pull itself again upwards:  to the sky, which was profusely spilled by the rain. The moisture has given  new forces, Track has supported in difficult times, therefore… Why should it, green Plantain, wither!?
The mighty bull of the rural herd has come at one time to the birchen forest. This animal has been  energetic, suddenly it has become  much more energetic  -   has lost its temper   -  and has begun to move avowedly  through bushes of the hazel, through gentle fluffy sprouts of small firs on sandy hillocks.
The obnoxious bozo could break  an oaklet, because it, noisy and rough,  afforded to strike  the young creation by the iron bulky hoof.
It is no wonder, the poor oaklet  has begun even to rock from this unexpected gift.
Then the bull has decided to plough  Track by its sharp big horn. The leaf of Plantain was come off at all.
-  My unhappy friend!  -  Track was excited.  -  I am sure, it is very painfully  to you!  Whether will you survive now?
Plantain has emited onto its wound  the lacteal juice. It was a droplet only, not more, however  the juice was curative.
The day has passed. The second day... also it again went away. Under the thickened magic droplet the wound has become small and well has disappeared, now has been capable to remind  of itself just by the  undistinguished scar.
Should  everyone forget about this unpleasant event in a week?  It is not necessary to speak so: someone, possibly, would recollect, because for many in the wood it will become  not very nice,  when they will get  something from the firm iron  hoof. When they will be ploughed up again by the sharp big horn.
Another, which would  be  ready-witted,  this very clever would think a little on a place of Plantain and  then would  run to be far away from  Track.  The bulls, it seems, are not against  the habit to stroll  with pleasure in the wood. But   the true friend  Plantain has not  brooded on some treachery even during one minute.
It  has leant only more strongly to Track by all  battered leaves.
The dandelions … oh, those have not missed a case to begin to giggle!
What to wait  from them? You can see from afar, that  they are all with big round heads, and it means, that all of them are very sharp-witted.  Certainly,  furtively they laughed without fail, also  these wiseacres were capable to laugh openly :
-  Hello, friends, famed by feckless silliness! Did you receive something? Be sure,  it is necessary to you!
If  Plantain would know, what expects it in the further!
Yes, if Plantain would know, then would  the friend of Track  listen to these sharp-witted  dandelions?
Most likely it is not present. And meanwhile Track started to become  more wide.
There was it in the day time: a cart  appeared   amid the wood.  It managed to go along Track. After this vehicle there were others, which  began to travel along the wood. Soon  a number of these creaking  guests started to move here.
Each cart had  four felloes, and they penetrated deeply into the ground.  It was made here so:  the felloe has not hesitated to cut all soft, gentle, green,  ultimately has undone any blade of grass, which has been on Track.
Therefore on it and near it there was not the trace  of  Plantain  already in the beginning of the autumn.
If you would know,  how  Track  -  which has become forest Lane, big and long  - has been excited,  how has felt queer, when has understood:  Plantain has disappeared once and for all!
How has Lane gone off then to the winter with its deep snows?  It was all  full of big puddles, which  were filled by impenetrable black dolour  up to edges.
When the spring has come, Lane  has started to look around with frank  amazement : on roadsides  there have been continuous silk tapes, soft, green.  Tapes of plantains have been now nearby.
It have appeared many friends at sad Lane. Not to be a success to count!  If the sad feelings to bring  to reason, then it is a high time for Track, which today is forest Lane, to drive far away  grief-melancholy.
Nowdays  there is no old narrow Track,  just is the wide country road. For the last year it has acquired  a plenty of friends.
From this day the army of the reliable and true plantains will accompany the new road  -  wide forest Lane.

* * *
 
I had happiness to read  in a book once: in a dew-drop the world is reflected.
To my mind, such metaphor can be just fine! At present it wanted to the author of the story about the magic forest alley to make the fine phrase more volumetric.
As a result it has turned out  so. In a dew-drop the world is reflected, and concerning the centuries-old  juvenility of our world... We have possibility to see this adolescence in the  wood avenue with its small homes for the birds, in the dances of the bicyclists, in the trills of the nightingales.
You will not be mistaken, if will manage to agree: they,  the dances of the young  bicyclists,  are at all not mere.
There is such law, what it is necessary to remember about.  The life on the Globe proceeds from century to century.  Assuredly that will be reasonably to continue itself in new centuries on our planet, fine and marvellous.
A proceeding life, which is unreasonable… oh, what is it?!  Not differently, some underground insects will be always…just they, forasmuch as these creations can have constant refuges  after mad thermonuclear wars.
Therefore all of us  know firmly:  the proceeding life has the right to be reasonable. As to aggressive wars between peoples, all of them should go away, absolve our planet from terribly bloody consequences. If to speak about the general disarmament,  its scale cannot be too great, this size  should be only more, than great.
Simultaneously efforts of all peoples concerning to preservation of the terrestrial nature cannot be on the Earth by  efforts of piddling scale. They should be reasonably sufficient.  For ever they will have the right to be exclusively responsible.