Sunrise, December 29, 2022
What a fine and measureless joy the gods grant us by letting us know nothing about the day that is to dawn!
The sun just risen. The ground is almost entirely bare. The puddles are not skimmed over. It is warm as an April morning. There is a sound as of bluebirds in the air, and the cocks crow as in the spring. The steam curls up from the roofs and the ground. You walk with open cloak. In the clear atmosphere I see, far in the eastern horizon, the steam from the steam-engine, like downy clouds above the woods.
The melted snow has formed large puddles and ponds, and is running in the sluices. At the turnpike bridge, water stands a foot or two deep over the ice. Water spiders have come out and are skating against the stream.
January thaw! It feels as warm as in summer. You sit on any fence-rail and vegetate in the sun, and realize that the earth may produce peas again.
How admirable it is that we can never foresee the [day,] – that it is always novel! Yesterday nobody dreamed of to-day; nobody dreams of to-morrow. This day, yesterday, was as incredible as any other miracle.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 29, 1851
How admirable it is that we can never foresee the weather, — that that is always novel ! Yesterday nobody dreamed of to-day; nobody dreams of tomorrow. Hence the weather is ever the news. What a fine and measureless joy the gods grant us thus, letting us know nothing about the day that is to dawn! This day, yesterday, was as incredible as any other miracle. See December 11, 1855 ("The age of miracles is each moment thus returned.”); January 30, 1860 ("What miracles, what beauty surrounds us!") See also March 7, 1859 ("The mystery of the life of plants is kindred with that of our own lives . . .We must not expect to probe with our fingers the sanctuary of any life, whether animal or vegetable. If we do, we shall discover nothing but surface still. The ultimate expression or fruit of any created thing is a fine effluence which only the most ingenuous worshipper perceives at a reverent distance .... the cause and the effect are equally evanescent and intangible, and . . . the essence is as far on the other side of the surface, or matter, as reverence detains the worshipper on this, and only reverence can find out this angle instinctively. "); November 30, 1858 (“ But in my account of this bream I cannot go a hair’s breadth beyond the mere statement that it exists, — the miracle of its existence, my contemporary and neighbor, yet so different from me! I can only poise my thought there by its side and try to think like a bream for a moment. I can only think of precious jewels, of music, poetry, beauty, and the mystery of life. I only see the bream in its orbit, as I see a star, but I care not to measure its distance or weight. The bream, appreciated, floats in the pond as the centre of the system, another image of God. Its life no man can explain more than he can his own. I want you to perceive the mystery of the bream.”)
December 29. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December 29
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 © 2009-2023
tinyurl.com/hdt511229
The sun just risen.
The ground is almost entirely bare.
The puddles are not skimmed over.
It is warm as an April morning.
There is a sound as of bluebirds in the air, and the cocks crow as in the spring.
The steam curls up from the roofs and the ground.
You walk with open cloak.
It is exciting [ to ] behold the smooth, glassy surface of water where the melted snow has formed large puddles and ponds, and to see it running in the sluices.
In the clear atmosphere I saw, far in the eastern horizon, the steam from the steam engine, like downy clouds above the woods, I think even beyond Weston.
By school-time you see the boys in the streets playing with the sluices, and the whole population is inspired with new life.
In the afternoon to Saw Mill Brook with W. E. C. sit on any Snow all gone from Minott's hillside.
The willow at the red house shines in the sun.
The boys have come out under the hill to pitch coppers.
Watts sits on his door-step.
It is like the first of April.
The wind is west.
At the turnpike bridge, water stands a foot or two deep over the ice.
Water spiders have come out and are skating against the stream.
How much they depend on January thaws !
Now for the frozen-thawed apples ! This is the first chance they have had to thaw this winter.
It feels as warm as in summer; you fence rail and vegetate in the sun, and realize that the earth may produce peas again.
Yet they say that this open and mild weather is unhealthy; that is always the way with them.
How admirable it is that we can never foresee the weather, — that that is always novel! Yesterday nobody dreamed of to-day; nobody dreams of tomorrow.
Hence the weather is ever the news.
What a fine and measureless joy the gods grant us thus, letting us know nothing about the day that is to dawn! This day, yesterday, was as incredible as any other miracle.
Now all creatures feel it, even the cattle chewing stalks in the barn-yards; and perchance it has penetrated even to the lurking-places of the crickets under the rocks.
The artist is at work in the Deep Cut. The telegraph harp sounds.
It feels as warm as in summer; you fence rail and vegetate in the sun, and realize that the earth may produce peas again.
Yet they say that this open and mild weather is unhealthy; that is always the way with them.
How admirable it is that we can never foresee the weather, — that that is always novel! Yesterday nobody dreamed of to-day; nobody dreams of tomorrow.
Hence the weather is ever the news.
What a fine and measureless joy the gods grant us thus, letting us know nothing about the day that is to dawn! This day, yesterday, was as incredible as any other miracle.
Now all creatures feel it, even the cattle chewing stalks in the barn-yards; and perchance it has penetrated even to the lurking-places of the crickets under the rocks.
The artist is at work in the Deep Cut. The telegraph harp sounds.
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