December 1, 2023
4 P. M. – Το Cliffs.
We may infer that every withered culm of grass or sedge, or weed that still stands in the fields, answers some purpose by standing.
Those trees and shrubs which retain their withered leaves through the winter – shrub oaks and young white, red, and black oaks, the lower branches of larger trees of the last-mentioned species, hornbeam, etc., and young hickories seem to form an intermediate class between deciduous and evergreen trees. They may almost be called the ever-reds.
Their leaves, which are falling all winter long, serve as a shelter to rabbits and partridges and other winter quadrupeds and birds. Even the little chickadees love to skulk amid them and peep out from behind them.
I hear their faint, silvery, lisping notes, like tinkling glass, and occasionally a sprightly day-day-day, as they inquisitively hop nearer and nearer to me. They are our most honest and innocent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter advances, and deserve best of any of the walker.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 1, 1853
Our most honest and innocent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter advances. See October 2, 1857 (“The chickadees of late have winter ways, flocking after you.”); October 15, 1856 ("The chickadees are hopping near on the hemlock above. They resume their winter ways before the winter comes. “)
The chickadee
Hops near to me.
November 9, 1850 ("The chickadees, if I stand long enough, hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally lisping a note.”); December 3, 1856 ("Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of chickadees and their winter habits. As you walk along a wood-side, a restless little flock of them, whose notes you hear at a distance, will seem to say, "Oh, there he goes! Let's pay our respects to him." And they will flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the nearest twig to you, as if they were minding their own business all the while without any reference to you.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter.
December 1. A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December 1
The chickadee hops
nearer and nearer as the
winter advances.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The chickadee Hops near to me.
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
https://tinyurl.com/hdt-531201
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