By mid-afternoon
I will see the sun setting
far through the woods.
That peculiar
clear greenish sky in the west
like a molten gem.
The day is short and
we now have these early still
clear winter sunsets.
Two twilights merely --
the morning and the evening
now make the whole day.
Great winter itself
reflecting rainbow colors
like a precious gem.
The sound of snowflakes
falling on the dry oak leaves,
as if a slight breeze.
A gray rabbit scuds
over the crust in the swamp
by Great Meadows’ edge.
December 11, 2020
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 © 2009-2020
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