As you advance, trees
come out of the mist and take
form before your eyes.
Soft russet landscape –
the sun now getting low in
a November day.
November 29, 1852
The soothing softness,
sunlight on russet landscape,
sun now getting low.
Again I am struck
by the wholesome colors of
the withered oak leaves.
Contrasting red-brown
misty-white on the two sides
of the shrub oak leaves.
So strong and cheerful
as if it rejoiced at the
advent of winter.
November 29, 1857
Three inches of snow.
Blue shadows, green rivers and
still winter life now.
Snow buntings rise from
the midst of a stubble-field
uinexpectedly.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2018
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
No comments:
Post a Comment