The poet must be
continually watching
the moods of his mind.
How vain it is to
sit down to write when you have
not stood up to live.
Dog-day mists are gone.
This first bright day of the fall,
cooler air braces man.
Northwesterly wind,
cool, clear, and elastic air.
First day of autumn.
Wind from the northwest,
bracing and encouraging,
and we can now sail.
This haze, we see no
further than our Annursnack,
blue as a mountain.
First day of autumn.
cool clear and elastic air.
Northwesterly wind.
 |
| August 19, 2015 |
 |
| August 19, 2017 |
August 19, 2017
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 © 2009-2021
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