Wednesday, November 11, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: November 11.



A bright but cold day
one must next wear gloves,
hands' winter quarters.


Bracing cold morning
exhilarating sunlight
russet frosty fields

Apples are frozen
on the trees and rattle like
stones in my pocket.

I wear mittens now.


Smooth shallow water
in the shelter of the wood
awaiting the ice

thousands of years hence
this warmest and sunniest spot
in the spring and fall

The jays are seen and
heard more of late, their plumage
is not dimmed at all.

How curves and angles
combine in pleasing outline --
the scarlet oak leaf!



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 © 2009-2016

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