Friday, December 11, 2015

A book of the Season: December 11.



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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