— "Zok-tok, zok-tok, zok-tok!" — the loom is taping smoothly and methodically. — "Zok-tok, zok-tok, zok-tok!" — as if raindrops knock the iron roofs. — "Zok-tok!" — this is not the rain at all. This Mushroom Grandmother is weaving her carpet.
Accurately and slowly, leaf by leaf grows the carpet pattern: in first unostentatious golden yellow, next — flamy vermilion and finally — beetroot brown.
— "Ow-la, how many bright colors! Ow-la, so beautiful carpet I`ll weave! Oh, how warmly the Earth will sleep in winter!" — Mushroom Grandmother is singing. — "Zok-tok!" —the loom echoes joyfully.
— "Zok-tok, zok-tok!" —the rain responds like an echo. — "Ow-la-la-toom! Ow-la-la-toom!" — sing roofs, window sills and pipes.
In the world of people nobody believes in Mushroom Grandmother, because nobody listen her funny songs. Only the intense roar of the water and the howling of the wind.