Sunday, December 13, 2015

A Book of the Seasons: December 13.


December 13.

Why have I ever
omitted early rising
and a morning walk?
December 13, 1852

Prepared for winter,
cheerful to see snows descend
and hear the blast howl.
December 13, 1855

Fine dewdrops frozen
on grass bent over the path
like a string of beads.
December 13, 1858


Leather-colored leaves
seen against the misty sky
in this mizzling rain.
December 13, 1858

And now I first take
that peculiar winter walk,
sky under my feet.
December 13, 1859

I see that the fox
has already taken the
same walk before me.
December 13, 1859





It was a clear cold morning. December 13, 1852


My first true winter walk is perhaps that which I take on the river, or where I cannot go in the summer. 
December 13, 1859

It is the walk peculiar to winter, and now first I take it. December 13, 1859



Now that the river is frozen we have a sky under our feet also December 13, 1859


I see that the fox too has already taken the same walk before me, just along the edge of the button-bushes, where not even he can go in the summer. We both turn our steps hither at the same time. December 13, 1859



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

No comments:

Post a Comment

Popular Posts Last 30 Days.

The week ahead in Henry’s journal

The week ahead in Henry’s journal
A journal, a book that shall contain a record of all your joy.
"A stone fruit. Each one yields me a thought." ~ H. D. Thoreau, March 28, 1859


I sit on this rock
wrestling with the melody
that possesses me.