Thursday, December 10, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: December 10

December 10.

Cold winter mornings -- 
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 
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

zphx's profile picture
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

*********
 
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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