III. Post-reading

3.1. Feelings.

"The fear is in us". Does this saying apply to the narrator? Prove your point of view.

3.2. Memories.

Have you ever had a really BAD dream? The one which was a thousand times worse than a thunderstorm? Share your recollec­tions, if you can.

3.3. Poetry corner.

Read the poem Tantrum by Monika Kulling and discuss its mes­sage.

The sky / lost its temper to day.

The blue of the face / went black in an angry scowl.

The brow of its sunny disposition / furrowed in rage —

Its voice thundered / and its eyes / flashed fury.

By dawn its face / is washed in light, / the night of tears forgotten.

THE SILVER STREAM

I. Pre-reading

1.1. SHARE your thoughts about autumn. Do you tend to see the beauty and charm of its colours or the tediousness of its rains?

1.2. IN PAIRS, discuss the problem of naming the season that comes after summer. Which word, British or American — autumn or fall — makes more sense to you?

1.3. IN SMALL GROUPS, discuss the most striking features of seasons in Belarus that can make it a great attraction for season lovers (and seasoned lovers as well).

II. Reading

2.1. Understanding the title. Here is the title of the story, The Silver Stream, written by Jon Letcher. What images does it evoke?

2.2. READING FOR PLEASURE AND ENRICHMENT.Read the story and answer the question: Is it true that everything comes to him who waits? The following words will be useful for better understanding of the events.

Twist — to change your position by turning

Bypass — a road that goes around the centre of town

Brook — a small stream

Twig — a small thin stem growing from a tree-branch

Shed — a small wooden building often for storing things

Rippling — getting gradually softer

Draught-stop — a piece of wood stopping cold air from the doorstep

One fine autumn afternoon, when Joe was walking up to his grandparents' house, he saw the first real sign that the birds were coming. All the leaves of a small tree growing far away against a factory wall seemed to fly up, twist in the air, and settle back down again among the branches. It was a mass of birds.

Once every year the birds begin to gather in trees and hedges, on walls and wires and towers. Then the small groups join into larger groups, until they all come together and fly away to the south. It was something Joe looked forward to every year. Soon they would be on their way, and unless he was high up, out of town, he would miss them. Without waiting for his family to catch up, he hurried down through the town, over the brook and the bypass and the railway line, and finally up the steep slope of Chalkstone Hill.

When he reached the top, he sat down for a rest. It was not far to the house now, and there was nothing moving anywhere in the sky. His mum and dad, with Andy and Ella, were trailing slowly up the path. The whole town was curled up in the valley behind them, sleeping in the hazy Sunday sunshine. Then a black fist of birds punched out of the trees beside the sports ground, sped away across the town and down the valley. Joe jumped up and didn't stop again until he reached the house.

After saying a quick hello to his nana and granddad, he came straight outside again and took up his position at the gate. At last he was in the right place. He could see for miles across the wide, flat hills, and if any birds came, he would see them.

Joe settled down to wait. It had been quite warm in the valley, almost like summer, but a keen wind was blowing across the hilltop. He began to feel very cold. There was still nothing moving in the sky, so he walked over to the garden shed and went inside.

It felt safe and warm in there. Joe heard his family going past and into the house, and he peered out at them through a mist of cobweb curtain. The spiders had woven thick tubes of web behind the woodwork, and Joe watched them coming out from their hiding places, one leg at a time. The only sound was the scratch, scratch of a plum twig against the window-until he heard a whistling, singing sound getting louder and louder.

He ran out through the shed and up to the gate, but it was only an old van going past on the road, whining away into silence. After the warmth of the shed, Joe felt even colder than before. He shel­tered as best he could behind the hedge and huddled deep down inside his jacket.

Every few minutes he got up and peered out across the fields. Still nothing. Nothing but an empty sky and a freezing wind. It was not yet getting dark, but it felt late, and a damp chill was coming out of the ground. The living room window looked unbearably warm and bright. Creeping closer, he could see his granddad asleep in a chair by the fire. They were setting the table for tea.

Joe decided to have one last look, just to make sure, and then give up. He didn't think for a moment that there'd be anything to see, but this time there was.

A dark bud was growing up over the horizon. It grew longer and longer, out into the sky, until it pointed like a vast black finger, straight toward the house. Joe tore himself away from the gate, ran into the house, and crashed through the door into the living room.

"The birds are coming! Quick! They're almost here!"

He dashed back out again. He didn't feel the cold anymore. He'd forgotten it. Andy and Ella joined him at the gate. His nana and granddad, mum and dad all stood by the back door. Nobody spoke. All of them were staring up into the sky, up into a huge cloud of birds-thousands wide and hundreds deep.

The cloud flowed toward them as smoothly as a river. Now they could see the movement of the wings. And at last, Joe could hear the first faint sounds of birdsong.

Every bird was singing as it flew, a song of all the days of sum­mer that had ended, of every tree and garden of the country they were leaving, of every worm and crumb and berry they had ever found and eaten. This was what Joe had been waiting for; this was what he loved more than anything else, this rippling, silver sound, like nothing else on earth. The sound of summer itself as it

flew south.

Sswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswssivsswsswsswsswsswss!!!!

He closed his eyes, and in his mind he could see the sparks of song drifting down, settling like snow, turning everything they touched to silver. He could see a whole river of singing, flowing across the landscape, bright as the sea-the Silver Stream.

When Joe opened his eyes again, the leaders had disappeared, and the mass of birds stretched in a dark, unbroken line across the sky. For perhaps ten minutes it flowed on and on, neither moving nor still. The millions of wings flickered bright and black, like leaves, against the sky.

And then the line broke off at the horizon. There was sky behind it, and no more birds to fill the gap. The space grew wider. Soon the end of, the line passed overhead, and Joe and his family turned and watched as it trailed away over the field behind the house. The singing stayed for a few moments. But it grew fainter, and fainter. Then it was gone.

The wind was getting stronger, making a gray, icy sound in the hedge. Joe's parents and grandparents began to move about and stretch. Without a word, they went back into the house, and Andy and Ella followed them.

Joe was alone again. He stood with his back to the gate, watch­ing the cloud of birds grow smaller, farther away, sinking below the skyline. Soon there was nothing to be seen but the line of trees and an empty sky.

Joe began to shiver. It was very cold. Winter was coming, freez­ing the ground where the Silver Stream had been.

He went into the house, closed the door, and pushed the draught-stop tight against the crack.

2.3. True or false.

1. Joe had seen the birds fly away before, so the spectacle didn't interest him.

2. He preferred to see the birds alone. He was tired of waiting and he gave up.

3. He could see his family enjoying the warmth of the house and joined them.

4. The birds' songs meant the end of fall and the arrival of winter.

5. The birds' song was what fascinated Joe most.

6. The Silver Stream, in fact, means a stream of the boy's dreams.

2.4. Points of view. Prove that...

Joe was observant.

The boy had a poetic nature.

The boy was patient and determined.

Joe was a sharing person.

Joe was imaginative and dreamy.

2.5. Vocabulary practice.

Match the words with their definitions.

1	dash	A	to walk slowly following other people
2	hazy	B	a sound made by sharp or rough thing
3	keen	C	cold and strong (usually about a wind or frost)
4	cobweb	D	not clear because of slight smoke
5	faint	E	to go or run very quickly
6	fist	E	difficult to see, hear, or smell
7	trail	F	a net of sticky threads
8	scratch	G	the hand with the fingers curled towards the palm

2.6. Translate into English.

1. Погода была ужасная — ветер и дождь. Не лучший день для похода.

2. Учительница шагала впереди, а класс медленно следовал за ней.

3. За стеной была слышна негромкая музыка.

4. Было туманное осеннее утро. Ветви в паутине были покрыты каплями.

5. Увидев хозяина, щенок бросился к нему.

6. В классе было тихо — слышалось только царапанье мела по доске.

7. Он незаметно показал ему кулак.

2.7. FOCUS ON GRAMMAR.

Describe some of Joe's experiences using conditionals (+ unless, in case, provided, supposing, as long as).

1. Joe know he would surely miss the birds unless ...

2. Though cold, Joe stayed out waiting in case ...

3. As long as he hoped to see the birds, Joe ....

4. Provided (that)...

5. Supposing ...

2.8. Metaphors in use.

There are many metaphors in the text. Find as many in the story as you can.

e.g. A black fist of birds punched out of the trees beside the sports ground...

The whole town was curled up in the valley behind them...

2.9. Verbs of motion.

It was a big day for Joe. He did a lot of waiting and running. Pick out all the verbs of motion the story contains and arrange them ac­cording to the degree of the intensity of action.

Very slow	Unhurried	Quick enough	Rather brisk	Very fast
trail			hurry