"In the morning in the village baked larks from dough. And on the way to school guys waved baked larks, stretched them into the sky and shouted: Larks, Come, come, Spring bring it! Winter is boring, I ate all the bread! Some even tied larks to long sticks to raise them higher in the sky. But it was still cold, the birds did not fly. And I worked at school as a teacher and I was surprised how all the students ate at the larks' breaks. Kolya Kalinin from the third class gave me one, but I did not eat it, I put it in my pocket. And then it's uncomfortable: the teacher suddenly eats lark. After the lessons, we all went out of school, and then Manya Kletkina from the first class cried: "Look, the lark!" This we lured him! A little to the side of the road, the first our lark sang high in the sky. His wings trembled, and it seemed that he was standing in the air in one place. - Wave, wave the larks! Cried Manya. "Lure the whole flock!" But there were no cooked larks left - there are still three changes. Then I took my own out of my pocket and waved a little, and the guys lured the birds in voices. And then a second lark appeared, then a third - they sang, filled the spring sky with trills. One of them sank into a field near us. He was gray and puffy, and it was difficult to see him in the redhead of last year's grass. And my liver-barked larks were puffed up, my eyes were raisins. I then could not restrain this lark and ate it. "
And we also baked larks on March 20 on the day of the vernal equinox!