A Book of the Seasons: December 17.

December 17.

December 17, 2017
(avesong)

These short winter days

sensibly lengthened by light

reflected from snow.

December 17, 1850

 

After a light snow 

a second snow in the woods

when the wind rises. 

December 17, 1851

A dozen or more
tree sparrows flitting though the 
edge of the birches.

That feeble cheep, like
tinkling of an icicle, --
a call to their mates.

These birds look larger

when perched this cold windy day  --

all puffed up for warmth.

December 17, 1856

When was it ordained
that this summer leaf should
turn brown in the fall?
December 17, 1856

I noticed when the snow first came that the days were very sensibly lengthened by the light being reflected from the snow. Any work which required light could be pursued about half an hour longer. So that we may well pray that the ground may not be laid bare by a thaw in these short winter days. December 17, 1850

A piercing cold afternoon, wading in the snow. December 17, 1851

The earth all bare; the sun so bright and warm; the steam curling up from every fence and roof, and carried off at an angle by the slight northwesterly air. December 17, 1855

Cold, with a piercing northwest wind and bare ground still.  There 's but little comfort to be found. You go stumping over bare frozen ground, sometimes clothed with curly yellowish withered grass like the back of half-starved cattle late in the fall, now beating this ear, now that, to keep them warm.  December 17, 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 © 2009-2020