The jay's shrill note is
more distinct of late about
the edges of the woods.
Bleached and faded corn
stands quite white in the twilight
against the dark earth.
Flocks of straggling crows
fill the air like black fragments
of an explosion.
October 6, 2014
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October 6, 2017
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The jay's shrill note is more distinct of late about the edges of the woods, when so many birds have left us. October 6, 1856
The corn stands bleached and faded — quite white in the twilight. October 6, 1858
The crow . . . hovers and circles about in flocks in an irregular and straggling manner, filling the air over your head and sporting in it as if at home here. They often burst up above the woods where they were perching, like the black fragments of a powder-mill just exploded. October 6, 1860
One crow lingers on a limb of the dead oak . . . and when it launches off to follow its comrades it is blown up and backward still nearer to me. It is obliged to tack four or five times just like a vessel, first to the right, then to the left, before it can get off; for as often as it tries to fly directly forward against the wind, it is blown upward and . . . it only advances directly forward at last by stooping very low within a few feet of the ground where the trees keep off the wind. October 6, 1860
A beautiful bright afternoon, still warmer than yesterday. October 6, 1857
The common notes of the chickadee, so rarely heard for a long time, and also one phebe strain from it, amid the Leaning Hemlocks, remind me of pleasant winter days, when they are more commonly seen. October 6, 1856
*****
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 © 2009-2019
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