A winter's ecstasy

December 31.

Down railroad to Walden and circle round to right, through Wheeler's woods out to railroad again.  

Four more inches of snow fell last night, making in all now two feet on a level. 

Walden froze completely over last night. It is, however, all snow ice, as it froze while it was snowing hard, and it looks like frozen yeast somewhat.

I wade about in the woods through the snow, which certainly averages considerably more than two feet deep where I go. It is a remarkable sight, this snow-clad landscape, with the fences and bushes half buried and the warm sun on it.  

The town and country are now so still, there being no rattle of wagons nor even jingle of sleigh-bells, every tread being as with woolen feet, I hear very distinctly from the railroad causeway the whistle of the locomotive on the Lowell road. 

I hear it, and I realize and see clearly what at other times I only dimly remember. I get the value of the earth's extent and the sky's depth. It, as it were, takes me out of my body and gives me the freedom of all bodies and all nature. I leave my body in a trance and accompany the zephyr and the fragrance.

He that hath ears, let him hear.  Sugar is not so sweet to the palate, as sound to the healthy ear.  The contact of sound with a human ear whose hearing is pure and unimpaired is coincident with an ecstasy. 

Saw probably an otter's track, very broad and deep, as if a log had been drawn along. It was nearly as obvious as a man's track . It was made before last night's snow fell. The creature from time to time went beneath the snow for a few feet, to the leaves. This animal probably I should never see the least trace of, were it not for the snow, the great revealer.

The birds I saw were a partridge, perched on an evergreen, apparently on account of the deep snow, heard a jay, and heard and saw together white-bellied nuthatches and chickadees, the former uttering a faint quank quank and making a loud tapping, and the latter its usual lisping note.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 31, 1853

Four more inches of snow fell last night, making in all now two feet on a level. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The weather, New Year's Eve

Walden froze completely over last night. See December 22, 1853 ("Walden skimmed over in the widest part, but some acres still open; will probably freeze entirely to-night if this weather holds.”); December 26, 1853 ("Walden still open.. . . the only pond hereabouts that is open.”); December 30, 1853 ("The pond not yet frozen entirely over; about six acres open, the wind blew so hard last night.“) See also
December 31, 1850 ("Walden pond has frozen over since I was there last. ") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Annual ice-in at Walden

The whistle of the locomotive on the Lowell road. See August 15, 1854 ("The locomotive whistle, far southwest, sounds like a bell.”); May 1, 1857 ("The bell was ringing for town meeting, and every one heard it, but It is a sound from amid the waves of the aerial sea, that breaks on our ears with the surf of the air, a sound that is almost breathed with the wind.");   March 22, 1856 ("I thought I heard the hum of a bee, but perhaps it was a railroad whistle on the Lowell Railroad. "); November 21, 1857 ("Paddling along, a little above the Hemlocks, I hear, I think, a boy whistling upon the bank above me, but immediately perceive that it is the whistle of the locomotive a mile off in that direction.. . . the moment that the key was changed from a very high to a low one.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bells and Whistles

I realize and see clearly what at other times I only dimly remember. . . I leave my body in a trance . . .The contact of sound with a human ear whose hearing is pure and unimpaired is coincident with an ecstasy. See March 3, 1841 ("Nature always possesses a certain sonorousness, as in the hum of insects, the booming of ice, the crowing of cocks in the morning, and the barking of dogs in the nigh, which indicates her sound state. God's voice is but a clear bell sound. I drink in a wonderful health, a cordial, in sound.")  September 12, 1851 ("I heard the telegraph-wire vibrating . . .. It told me by the faintest imaginable strain, it told me by the finest strain that a human ear can hear, yet conclusively and past all refutation, that there were higher, infinitely higher, planes of life which it behooved me never to forget."); March 17, 1852 ("By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe, I am fitted to hear, my being moves in a sphere of melody, my fancy and imagination are excited to an inconceivable degree.”); May 23, 1854 ("Think of going abroad out of one's self to hear music . . .There was a time when the beauty and the music were all within, and I sat and listened to my thoughts, and there was a song in them. I sat for hours on rocks and wrestled with the melody which possessed me. I sat and listened by the hour to a positive though faint and distant music."); January 12, 1855 (" What a delicious sound! It is not merely crow calling to crow, for it speaks to me too. I am part of one great creature with him; if he has voice, I have ears. I can hear when he calls.”); February 20, 1857 ("What is the relation between a bird and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, perchance, it is more charming and significant than to any else? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one was made for the other. . . . I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. “);  April 15, 1859 ("We are provided with singing birds and with ears to hear them. . . . Whether a man's work be hard or easy, whether he be happy or unhappy, a bird is appointed to sing to a man while he is at his work. ")

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