Fairy tales, cartoon stories about flamingos. Pink flamingo. Debt repayment methods
Age: 9-13 years old.
Focus: Uncertainty, self-doubt, feelings of inferiority and “insignificance.”
Key phrase:"I'm not like others".
In distant hot countries there live beautiful birds called Flamingos. During the day they walk, proudly walking along the river bank, and in the evening, when the sun rolls towards the horizon, they fly up into the sky and soar under the clouds. The sunset turns their pink wings crimson and anyone who has ever seen this will never forget it.
Are you interested in knowing where flamingos came from? Then listen.
Once upon a time there was a little Cloud. It, like every cloud, flew across the sky all day long with other clouds - wherever the wind blows, and more than anything else in the world it loved to watch the sunset.
One day, small colored birds flew past our Cloud. Cloud liked them very much, and he wanted to fly with them and look at the sunset closer. The cloud decided to talk to the birds.
- Where are you flying to? - it asked.
“We birds fly wherever we want,” said one.
“Yes, yes,” said the other. “We can fly wherever we want.”
“Take me with you,” Cloud asked.
“Ha-ha-ha,” the birds laughed, “but you don’t know how to fly and you’ll never succeed.” “You are just a small stupid Cloud that flies where the wind blows,” said the birds and flew away.
The cloud became very sad. The gray days dragged on. It was no longer happy about anything and only moved slowly and lazily across the sky. It hardly spoke to anyone and kept thinking: “What an unfortunate, clumsy, gray Cloud I am. I don’t even know how to fly.” And at night he dreamed that small colorful birds were flying around him, laughing and saying: “Small, stupid, clumsy, gray Cloud.”
One evening, when sunset was approaching, the Cloud, as always, flew across the sky and, lost in thought, did not notice that it had long been separated from the other clouds and was being driven by a completely different wind. When it noticed this, it did not resist.
“What difference does it make,” thought the Cloud. “I still can’t fly, I’ll be a lonely gray Cloud.” The sun had already painted the sky in pink and red tones, when suddenly an incredibly strong wind picked up a cloud and very quickly carried it towards the largest mountain.
- How dare you enter my territory?! You clouds only interfere with us - the winds. “For this I will smash you against a rock,” said the Wind.
The cloud tried to cope with the gust of the Wind, to say that it was some random, mischievous breeze that brought it here, but the Wind did not want to listen to anything. The cloud thought: “Well, even if I crash on a rock, I still will never be able to fly.”
The wind carried him with great speed, the rock was getting closer and closer. The cloud decided to look at the sunset one last time. It seemed to him that the sunset was especially beautiful today.
“Am I really not going to see him again,” Cloud thought and got scared. He really wanted to live and see the sunset every day. “What should I do?.. I must try to fly away from the wind.”
At that moment, the Wind threw him into the rock with all his might. The cloud pushed off and tried to fly away, but the Wind grabbed it and threw it with force again. The cloud thought: “I need to try, I will definitely succeed.” It pushed off again and tried to fly away. The wind grabbed Cloud again, accelerated and threw him onto the rock.
“I will succeed. I will not give up,” Cloud decided and felt incredibly strong. It gathered all its strength, pushed off and soared into the sky. It tried to stretch out like a bird. The wind was at first confused, but a second later it chased the Cloud again. The cloud tried to fly faster, it followed the departing rays of the sun. It thought: “If only I had wings now, I would fly away from the Wind.” And suddenly the cloud had wings. It turned into a beautiful bird and flew very quickly. The wind could not keep up with the bird, began to lag behind, got tired and stopped chasing it. A miracle happened because Cloud collided with the magical Rock of Wishes, on which dreams either break or become reality.
The cloud thought: “What a miracle this is. I am a bird, I can fly, I can fly, I can fly to the very sun.” It was easy, good and very fun for him. It had never seen the sunset so close. The evening sun turned his feathers pink. The little colored birds, seeing him, said: “What a beautiful bird and how well she flies.”
The little gray Cloud turned into a beautiful pink bird, which people called Flamingo.
ISSUES FOR DISCUSSION
What was Cloud worried about?
Has anything like this ever happened to you?
Why didn't Cloud's dreams crash on the Wishing Rock? What helped him cope with the Wind?
Plunging headlong into everyday life and getting bogged down in minor troubles, I feel more and more the need to write a beautiful story. Create your ideal world in the projection of my consciousness. So that it would definitely have a multi-colored rainbow, and pink Flamingos would walk importantly along the warm golden sand, and the emerald waters of the ocean would wash their graceful feet.
Flamingos have legs or paws? I'll think about this when I start writing.
And that in this story there would definitely be a sky... A sky with endless horizons, embodying all dreams and human hopes. Instead of the usual clouds, let there be sparkling soap bubbles that burst from the cheerful laughter of my loved ones and family. Small splashes fly into different sides and merge into a rainbow stream, originating in a chamomile field, framing the blue sky in a smooth arc. Or not, let the sky be a slightly azure hue, maybe it’s sunset, or better yet, dawn... Waiting for a new, bright, wonderful transformation of my world into paradise...
In my opinion, I moved away from the general line of my story. Firstly, I don’t know, what color is azure? Hiding under a beautiful word, I don’t know the very essence of the word, and secondly, I completely forgot about the rainbow, which was stuck in the chamomile field. And I can already see how the second end of my rainbow is mercilessly tossed by the wind, from time to time bending in different directions. And so, my beautiful arc, before our eyes, loses its status and greatness, and, like a simple kite, is given over to the gusts of wind. I feel guilty about the rainbow because I lost interest in it and another event and did not allow it to reach the end.
So what color is azure? I read in the dictionary: “Azure is one of the shades of blue. In the animal world, the blue dragonfly and azure grass parrot have an azure outfit.” Beautiful! In my ideal world, blue dragonflies could fly and cerulean parrots chirp. But I wanted to write about the sky in shades of pink or scarlet. So, I want one thing, I mean another, and in the end I get a third. From the series, that’s not what I meant…. I write about the sky, and I get a blue dragonfly.
It follows from this that all my ideas about the ideal sky are no good, and this is not a sunset, much less a dawn. This is simply SKY in its light range. What an “unexpected” conclusion suddenly emerged: the sky is SKY in itself! Regardless of my desires and claims! If you don't like it, look for something else! There is no other Heaven! It is unique, unique, and ALWAYS uniquely beautiful, even if it is covered by clouds.
Okay, if nothing can be done with the sky, then we try to change the color. It's within my power. Through a pink glass the world appears pink. Again, I turn to the dictionary: red has 26 main shades. There are 26 options for the development of events, and I have the power to direct the desired event in one direction. Like in Russian fairy tales: you go to the right, but even there: there are three options, and I have 26!
Let's return to the previous proposal: let the sky be alizarin, or better shocking pink. No, my story already has pink flamingos. Maybe reddish brown? More like a thunderstorm warning, and I have an ideal world. How difficult it is to make decisions and take responsibility. In one word, you can turn the story in one direction. The reddish brown sky sounds ominous... And now clouds rolled in, thunder struck, the sun hid behind dark clouds to wait out the bad weather. One word and the whole ideal picture of my life in the blink of an eye turns into the territory of military showdowns between huge clouds against the background of a reddish-brown sky.
Perhaps we'll stick to amaranth color. Mysteriously, a beautiful word, beautiful color, excellent sound. Let my sky be in shades of amaranth, in anticipation of sunset, or anticipation of dawn... That’s better this way.
Now we need to catch the tail of the dangling rainbow and save it from its ingloriously lost value. Originating in a chamomile field, it must necessarily go up into the amaranth-colored sky. And now she’s already leaving…..she’s leaving, and she’s already left with everything. Without leaving behind a sparkling drop of rain, or pearly dewdrops in the daisies. The sky is endless, and a lonely rainbow dangles between the sparkling soap bubbles, envying their ability to maneuver maneuverably across the sky and return back if desired. My rainbow is darkening every minute with envy of joyful soap bubbles. Although short, but a bright and understandable life. Even possessing the sky does not guarantee you cloudless happiness and does not protect you from envy.
So, what to do with the second end of the rainbow: tie it to a hundred-year-old oak tree, which it will hold in its mighty branches and senilely revel in its possession? Maybe towards the horizon? No, he is very changeable and every time you approach him, he will evade responsibility before the wonderful natural phenomenon. Understatement, reticence and slight neglect will deplete the iridescent essence of the rainbow itself and it will all end in light dew on the coastal stones.
Dip it into the white foam of the sea and press it down with a heavy stone? It’s somehow very fatal and not romantic. Maybe tie it to Flamingo's leg? I haven’t learned yet that Flamingos have legs and paws? Tying a rainbow to a Flamingo's paws doesn't sound very good, even though it's a beautiful bird. Let's return to the dictionary: “Flamingos have thin long legs, flexible neck and plumage, the color of which varies from white to red.” Everything fits together: the sky is amaranth, the flamingos are red, the rainbow is multi-colored. Although no one's legs have been tied yet. Even the longest ones, even if you are a Flamingo..... So what to do? The eternal question...
Let it be like this: a rainbow, originating in white daisies, bends favorably over the beautiful earth, goes into the space of dreams and daydreams, having an excellent opportunity to return back at any moment. Descending from the sky with droplets of water in sparkling sun rays. Beautiful, incomprehensible, and most importantly, without clues or attachments. And then, if you think about it, who will take responsibility and tie the rainbow to themselves?
We would all like to live in his ideal world. For love, understanding, ideal health and so on, all the adjacent cotton candy and pink glass... But if the World is not ideal, and does not always correspond to our expectations, then we have only one thing left... to love it as it is. This is such an imperfect, but beloved WORLD.
This is how, while thinking about the story, I ended up with a couple of sheets of typed text. This means that it is not enough to just want, you have to take it and do it. Do you want to write a story? Write!
I open the computer and confidently tap on the keyboard:
Pink Flamingos stroll importantly along the golden sand, while the emerald waters of the ocean wash their graceful feet.
Flamingo Story by Sokolov - Mikitova
It was with particular pleasure that we spent the night in a hospitable house on the shore of the bay, early morning We are again moving towards the wintering grounds of birds. Tapping its engine, the small boat cuts through the mirror-like surface of the bay dotted with birds. Here, outside the boundaries of the ban, the bird, frightened by local hunters, behaves cautiously. Seeing the approaching ship, far away - beyond the shots - the geese and ducks whipped by the hunters are removed from the water.
On the way, we only managed to shoot a few Kashkaldak coots swimming in the bay. The fattened birds became so fat (among local hunters, coots are rightly considered the most delicious bird) that when the boat approached, it was difficult for them to rise from the water. Slapping the water with their wings, stretching their necks funny, they awkwardly tried to take off. The bird, wounded by the shot, instantly disappeared under the water before our eyes. We circled around for a long time, but we never had a chance to see her again. Hunters are well aware of the amazing ability of some wild ducks to hide from shots under water. An inexperienced hunter can sometimes fire several dozen charges at a wounded dive. The wounded bird, having dived, hides in dense thickets of algae and, sticking its beak above the surface of the water, remains invisible to the hunter. The disappearance of the wounded coot on the mirror-like surface of the wide bay remains an unsolved mystery for us. It is difficult to believe the fantastic explanation of the local hunter who accompanied us, who assured us that a mortally wounded coot, having dived to the seabed, firmly holds onto the ground with its beak and thus dies, preferring to suffocate rather than fall into the hands of the hunter who wounded it...
Travelers and hunters who have visited places where birds gather are well aware of how easily and quickly birds in large reserves get used to the person guarding their safety. The birds that filled the bay seemed to know well the invisible line of prohibition, and as soon as we crossed the border of the reserve and hid our guns, the birds stopped being afraid of the boat approaching them, and calmly aimed at the right shot.
Surrounded by a noisy bird world, imperceptibly closing behind us in a living, moving circle, we entered the reserve - into the wonderful kingdom of bird wintering grounds. The coastal shallows and the foggy surface of the bay were dotted with birds. Birds of all kinds swam and dived, spreading their wings, flying in flocks and singly through the air above our heads. White islands were visible on the dark surface of the bay. These were swans swimming, from afar looking like ships with spread white sails.
Rounding the shores overgrown with reeds, we sailed for a long time in the middle of a wide mirror bay filled with birds. The rainy winter sky hung low over the reeds. As if promising good weather for tomorrow, a narrow strip of dawn appeared on the horizon.
- Look, there are flamingos sitting on the shallows! - looking at the strip of imaginary “dawn,” said our companion.
To see the rare birds again, I asked to take our small boat closer. The closer we came, the more clearly we could see the large pink island, which from a distance seemed like a scarlet dawn. Several such islands were visible in the foggy distance of the bay. At a distance of half a kilometer you can see large pink birds feeding on the shallows. Through binoculars their white necks and carmine-red legs were visible. From a distance the entire island seemed motionless. The large pink birds seemed to freeze. It seemed to us, hunters, that the fairy-tale island that had appeared to us would disappear on its own, like a wondrous vision.
With strong marine binoculars I saw individual birds. The birds sometimes turned and dipped their heads into the water. Their thick beaks seemed to be broken. Spreading their red wings, they seemed to be dancing, and the entire island shimmered with a fiery scarlet dawn. (The name “flamingo,” which in Russian means “flaming goose,” very aptly defines the fiery coloring of these birds.)
“There are at least twenty thousand birds on this island,” our experienced companion, looking around the entire pink island with an experienced eye, determined the number of birds.
We were about three hundred paces from the living pink island when, alarmed by the approach of the boat, the birds began to stir. Spreading their wings, the birds took off one after another and lined up in a long line. Reflected in the mirror-like surface of the bay, twisting intricately, the red string disappeared over the horizon, and it seemed to us that it was the scarlet evening dawn flaring up in the sky.
A string of wonderful birds meandered like an endless ribbon over the bay. Admiring the unprecedented picture, we watched for a long time as before our eyes, like a vision, the enchanted pink island disappeared and melted into the air.
In one zoo there lived a family of pink flamingos. It was Papa Flamingo, Mama Flamingo and their unhatched chick - it was still inside the egg. It was autumn and all the heat-loving animals were moved into enclosures for wintering. A family of flamingos was also transported, because they are from warm regions and can simply freeze in winter. During the move, in the confusion, the baby's egg rolled out of the nest and rolled along the path, rolled, rolled and ended up under a tree where there was a crow's nest. A zoo worker walked past the tree, he noticed an egg and decided that it had fallen out of a crow's nest, picked it up and put it inside.
When the crow returned from hunting, she saw a new egg in her house, but did not throw it away, she decided to sit it and see who would hatch there. Soon chicks began to hatch from the crow's clutch, and no one pecked from the thrown egg for a long time, but the crow did not give up and the next day a knock was heard, and then the egg split and the head of a strange creature appeared. Pink colour, followed by the rest of the body, when the baby opened his eyes, the first thing he said was:
“No, I’m not your mother,” the crow answered, “look, my kids are all black and tiny, and you are big and all pink, let’s look for your mother together.”
- Come on, otherwise I’m completely cold and my mother was probably all worried.
And at this time, in the flamingo’s house, the mother and father could not find a place for themselves from grief, because they had lost their only baby, and no one knew what happened to him.
The crow took the baby flamingo in its claws and flew in search of his real parents, the first ones they went to were the peacocks - in the crow's understanding they were very colorful birds, but they refused to accept the baby, showing their babies, which were a nondescript gray color.
Then the crow flew to the turkeys, but they also refused, because their babies were not pink at all. The turkeys sent the crow to the parrots, and they laughed at the crow for a long time.
But the wise bird did not give up and carried its burden to the parrots, where a colorful, varied flock of parrots examined the baby flamingo for a long time, but no one recognized it as one of their own:
“He’s too big, our chicks are small,” the parrots insisted.
“I know who it is,” the wise cockatoo spoke, “it’s a flamingo, fly to them.”
And the crow flew in the last hope of finding the baby’s mother among the flamingos. Imagine her joy when the happy flamingo parents flew out to meet them, hugged him and the crow and thanked her for a long time for saving their cub. The flamingo's mom and dad took them to their warm house and, in gratitude for saving the baby, offered the crow and her babies to spend the winter together in a warm house. The crow agreed and the baby flamingo spent the winter with his parents and crow friends. And they lived happily ever after.
One day the snakes were giving a ball. They invited frogs and toads, flamingos, crocodiles and fish. Pisces, since they can’t walk, couldn’t dance, of course. But since the ball took place near the river, they swam up to the very shore, stuck out of the water and joyfully fapped their tails.
The crocodiles wore banana necklaces for beauty and smoked Paraguayan cigars. The toads were dressed from head to toe in shiny fish scales and walked around, swaying as if swimming. And every time they strutted along the shore, the fish made a noise, mocking them.
The frogs, heavily perfumed, walked on their hind legs. And, besides, each hung a small firefly around her neck instead of a lantern, which swayed with every movement.
But what was truly beautiful were the snakes.
They were dressed like ballerinas, each wearing a skirt the color of the snake itself. The red snakes had skirts made of red tulle, the green ones had green skirts, the yellow snakes had yellow skirts, and the jararaks had skirts made of gray tulle with brick-brown stripes, because these snakes have that coloring.
But especially magnificent were the coral snakes, which were dressed in long black, red and white capes made of thin gauze and, dancing, wriggled like bright paper ribbons. As the snakes danced and twirled, touching the ground with just the tip of their tail, all the guests clapped, reveling in delight.
Only the flamingos, who at that time had white legs and the same thick and crooked nose as now, were sad: the stupid birds did not manage to dress up for the holiday, they did not have enough ingenuity for this. And therefore, when they saw that everyone came so smart, they were tormented by envy. They were especially jealous of the coral snakes. And every time one of the coral snakes, gracefully wriggling, rushed past in its transparent wavy clothes, the flamingos died of envy.
Then one of them said:
I know what we should do. Let's put on black, red and white stockings and the coral snakes will fall in love with us.
And, immediately rising into the air, the flamingos flew across the river and, landing on the ground near one of the city shops, knocked on the doors.
Knock Knock! - they drummed with their feet.
Who's there? - the shopkeeper responded.
It's us, flamingos. Do you have black, red and white stockings for sale?
“No, there are no such stockings,” answered the shopkeeper. - Are you crazy, or what? You won't find stockings like these anywhere.
The flamingos flew away and knocked on another shop:
The shopkeeper replied:
As you said? Black-red-white? You won't find stockings like these anywhere. Are you crazy? Who you are?
“We are flamingos,” the birds answered.
Then the shopkeeper said:
Well, then you are crazy flamingos.
The flamingos flew away again and knocked on the third shop:
Knock-knock!.. Do you have black, red and white stockings?
The shopkeeper shouted:
Which? Black-red-white? Only stupid big-nosed birds like you would think of asking such things. Get away immediately!
And the shopkeeper, grabbing a broom, attacked the poor flamingos.
So the flamingos visited all the shops, and they were driven out from everywhere and everywhere they were called crazy.
And then the armadillo, who came to the river to drink, wanted to make fun of the flamingos, and, turning to them very friendly, he said:
Good evening, flamingo gentlemen. I know what you are looking for. You will not find such stockings in any store. Perhaps they are sold in Buenos Aires, but then you would have to ask for them to be sent to you by mail. Only the owl, my daughter-in-law, has what you need. Ask her and she will get you black, red and white stockings.
The flamingos thanked and flew to the cave where the owl lived. They told her:
Good evening, owl. We came to ask you for black, red and white stockings. Today the snakes are having a big ball, and if we wear these stockings, the coral snakes will fall in love with us.
With great pleasure! - answered the owl. - Wait a little, I'll be right back.
And, having flown away, she left the flamingos alone. After some time, she returned and brought several pairs of stockings, but these were not stockings at all, but the skin of coral snakes, and this skin, wonderful, bright in color, was torn off from the snakes that the owl had just caught.
Here are some stockings for you,” she said. - Now everything is in order, just don’t forget what I’m going to tell you now: dance all night long, dance without stopping for a minute, sway, spin, stand on your head - in a word, dance as you want, but just don’t stop. And stop - stop dancing, get a task.
But the stupid flamingos did not understand what a huge danger was threatening them, and, maddened with joy, they began to pull snakeskin stockings onto their long legs. So, happy and contented, they flew to the ball.
Seeing the flamingos in such luxurious stockings, everyone began to envy them. The snakes did not want to dance with anyone but them, and since the flamingos did not stop for a second, it was impossible to see what these amazing stockings were made of.
However, little by little the snakes began to suspect something was wrong. And when the flamingos danced past them, they stretched out on the ground to get a better look at the strange stockings.
The coral snakes were the most worried. They did not take their eyes off the stockings and stretched out the most, trying to reach the flamingo’s feet with their tongue, because the tongue serves snakes in the same way as a person’s hands. But the flamingos danced and danced, not stopping for a second, although they were completely exhausted.
The coral snakes, seeing that the flamingos could barely stand on their feet, asked the frogs for their lanterns, which, as we remember, were small fireflies, and, having gathered together, began to wait for the flamingos to fall from fatigue.
And indeed, a minute later, one flamingo, completely exhausted, tripped over a cigar thrown by one of the crocodiles, staggered and fell on its side. Coral snakes rushed towards him with their lanterns and brightly illuminated his feet. They realized what his stockings were made of, and raised such a whistle that it could be heard on the other side of the Parana.
These are not stockings! - the snakes shouted. - We know what it is! We were deceived!
Flamingos killed our sisters and wore their skins instead of stockings! They are wearing stockings made from the skin of coral snakes!
Hearing this, the flamingos, trembling with fear, wanted to fly away, but they were so tired that they were no longer able to move even one wing. Then the coral snakes pounced on them and, wrapping themselves around their legs, tore the damned stockings, tearing them to shreds and fiercely stinging the flamingo’s bare legs.
The flamingos, mad with pain, darted from side to side, trying to throw off the snakes entwined around their legs. Finally, seeing that not a shred of the damned stockings remained, the snakes let go of the flamingos and crawled away, tired, straightening their crumpled gauze capes.
In addition, the coral snakes were sure that the flamingos would soon die, because they knew that their bites were fatal.
But the flamingos did not die. Writhing in unbearable pain, they ran to the water.
They screamed in pain, and their legs, which were previously white, turned red from the snake's venom. Days passed after days, and the flamingo’s legs burned like fire, and they became red as blood, and all this was from snake venom.
Much, much time has passed since then. But even now flamingos stand in the water all day long to cool their red legs, which still hurt, at least a little.
Sometimes they come out of the water and take a few steps on land to see if they feel better. But on land, the pain from the old bites immediately returns, and the flamingos run to the water again. Sometimes their legs burn so much that they tuck one leg under and stand in the water for hours, unable to move.
Here is the story of flamingos, which used to have white legs, but now have red legs. All the fish know this story and laugh at them. But flamingos, while they are healing their feet in the water, do not miss the opportunity to take revenge on the fish for this, and as soon as some brave fish swims closer to them, they lower their beak into the water and swallow the daring mocker.
