The snow is sixteen inches deep at least, but it is a mild and genial afternoon. I feel my spirits rise when I get off the road into the open fields. The sky has a new appearance. I step along more buoyantly.
There is a warm sunset, a yellowish tinge on the pines. Reddish dun-colored clouds like dusky flames stand over the wooded valleys. And now streaks of blue sky are seen here and there.
The life, the joy, that is in blue sky after a storm!
There is no account of the blue sky in history. I must live above all in the present.
The life, the joy, that is in blue sky after a storm!
There is no account of the blue sky in history. I must live above all in the present.
Reddish dun-colored clouds like dusky flames. See January 7, 1852 ("In the western horizon . . .a bright coppery-yellow fair-weather cloud."); January 7, 1856 ("just before sunset, the few little patches of ice look green as I go from the sun (which is in clouds).)
The snow is sixteen inches deep at least, but [it] is a mild and genial afternoon, as if it were the beginning of a January thaw. Take away the snow and it would not be winter but like many days in the fall. The birds acknowledge the difference in the air; the jays are more noisy, and the chickadees are oftener heard. Many herbs are not crushed by the snow . I do not remember to have seen fleas except when the weather was mild and the snow damp . I must live above all in the present .
Science does not embody all that men know , only what is for men of science . The woodman tells me how he caught trout in a box trap , how he made his trough for maple sap of pine logs , and the spouts of sumach or white ash , which have a large pith . He can relate his facts to human life . The knowledge of an unlearned man is living and luxuriant like a forest , but covered with mosses and lichens and for the most part inaccessible and going to waste ; the knowledge of the man of science is like timber collected in yards for public works , which still supports a green sprout here and there , but even this is liable to dry rot .
I felt my spirits rise when I had got off the road into the open fields , and the sky had a new appearance . I stepped along more buoyantly . There was a warm sunset over the wooded valleys , a yellowish tinge on the pines . Reddish dun - colored clouds like dusky flames stood over it . And then streaks of blue sky were seen here and there . The life , the joy , that is in blue sky after a storm ! There is no account of the blue sky in history . Before I walked in the ruts of travel ; now I adventured . This evening a fog comes up from the south .
If I have any conversation with a scamp in my walk , my afternoon is wont to be spoiled .
The squirrels and apparently the rabbits have got all the frozen apples in the hollow behind Miles's . The rabbits appear to have devoured what the squirrels dropped and left . I see the tracks of both leading from the woods on all sides to the apple trees .
January 7. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, January 7
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024
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