Cold winter mornings --
these glorious winter days.
Finest in the year.
December 10, 1853/56
these glorious winter days.
Finest in the year.
December 10, 1853/56
Weather warmer and
snow now suddenly softened.
Water in the road.
December 10, 1854
The sun is rising
and the smokes from the chimneys
blush like sunset clouds
I hardly get out
a couple of miles before
the sun is setting
I see the sun set
and make haste with the red sky
over my shoulder.
A cold clear winter
morning and a glorious
clear warm winter day,
December 10, 1856
A fine, clear, cold winter morning, with a small leaf frost on trees, etc. December 10, 1856
When I return, the sun is rising and the smokes from the chimneys . . . blush like sunset clouds. December 10, 1856
These are among the finest days in the year, on account of the wholesome bracing coolness and clearness. December 10, 1853
It has been a warm, clear, glorious winter day, the air full of that peculiar vapor. December 10, 1856
shooting ice-crystals,
extending from both
sides of the stream.
December 10, 1853
Weather warmer
snow softened.
December 10, 1854
Snow-fleas in paths –
first I have seen.
December 10, 1854
the wholesome bracing
coolness and clearness
These the finest days
in the year
warm, clear, glorious
winter day, the air full of
peculiar vapor.
December 10, 1856
I see the sun set
I see the sun set
and make haste with the red sky
over my shoulder.
December 10, 1856
How short the afternoons! I hardly get out a couple of miles before the sun is setting. December 10, 1856
I see the sun set from the side of Nawshawtuct, and make haste to the post-office with the red sky over my shoulder. December 10, 1856
A fine, clear, cold winter morning, with a small leaf frost on trees. The thermometer 3°. The sun is rising and the smokes from the chimneys blush like sunset clouds. How short the afternoons! I hardly get out a couple of miles before the sun is setting. I make haste to the post-office with the red sky over my shoulder. It has been a warm, clear, glorious winter day, the air full of that peculiar vapor.H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 10, 1856
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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 © 2009-2015
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