Surface so polished
I mistake it for water.
This the first skating.
December 18, 1852
The hard edge of the
western hills seen distinctly
through this clear cold air.
December 18, 1853
To walk through swamps where
great white pines grow and hear the
wind sough in their tops.
December 18, 1858
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2020
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
No comments:
Post a Comment