Friday, November 27, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: November 27.



Too cold to paddle –
water freezes the handle 
and numbs my fingers.

The bare barren earth
cheerless without ice and snow –   
but how bright the stars.

I find acorns which
have sent a shoot down into
the earth this fall.

So new this country
inhabited by species
unknown to science.

November 27, 2021



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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