I notice that almost every track which I made yesterday in the snow- - perhaps ten inches deep has got a dead leaf in it, though none is to be seen on the snow around.
Even as early as 3 o'clock these winter afternoons the axes in the woods sound like nightfall , like the sound of a twilight labor.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, January 8, 1852
See
January 7, 1857 ("Though the rest of the broad path is else perfectly unspotted white, each track of the fox has proved a trap which has caught from three or four to eight or ten leaves each, snugly packed; and thus it is reprinted.")
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2023
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