A Book of the Seasons: December 26.

December 26



It has snowed for hours
and, as it ceases, I go out
to see the new snow.


Gently fallen snow
has formed an upright wall on
the slenderest twig.


And every twig
thus laden is as still as
the hillside itself.



All weeds with their seeds
rising dark above the snow

now conspicuous.


The branches and trees
bending with snowy burdens
o'er the trackless road.



This pure and trackless
road up Brister's Hill tempts us
to start life again.
December 26, 1853



Snows all day, — the first
snow of any consequence,
three or four inches.
December 26, 1857

It begins to snow
so gradually I thought
I imagined it.
December 26, 1859

I walk in the woods –

if I were home I would try

to write poetry.

December 26, 1854

December 25, 2017



December 26, 2013

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 © 2009-2019