January 7.
It is a dark day, the heavens shut out with dense snow clouds and the trees wetting me with the melting snow, when going through Brown's wood on Fair Haven, which they are cutting off, and suddenly looking through the woods between the stems of the trees, I think I see an extensive fire in the western horizon.
It is a dark day, the heavens shut out with dense snow clouds and the trees wetting me with the melting snow, when going through Brown's wood on Fair Haven, which they are cutting off, and suddenly looking through the woods between the stems of the trees, I think I see an extensive fire in the western horizon.
It is a bright coppery-yellow fair-weather cloud.
Later this evening, walking to Lincoln to lecture in a driving snow-storm, the invisible moon gives light
through the thickest of it.
How richly the snow lays on the cedar!
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, January 7, 1852
I think I see an extensive fire in the western horizon. It is a bright coppery-yellow fair-weather cloud. See January 6, 1854 ("There was a low, narrow, clear segment of sky in the west at sunset . . . of the coppery yellow, perhaps, of some of Gilpin's pictures, all spotted coarsely with clouds like a leopard's skin.")
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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