A Book of the Seasons: January 17.

January 17.

The unclouded mind,

serene, pure, ineffable

like the western sky.

January 17, 1852

January 17, 2020

 Looking on the rocks

I feel comparatively 

as if with kindred.

January 17, 1854

January 17, 2021

January 17, 2021

January 17, 2021

In proportion as I have celestial thoughts, is the necessity for me to be out and behold the western sky sunset these winter days. That is the symbol of the unclouded mind that knows neither winter nor summer.  January 17, 1852

Human beings with whom I have no sympathy are far stranger to me than inanimate matter, — rocks or earth. Looking on the last, I feel comparatively as if I were with my kindred. January 17, 1854

As the skies appear to a man, so is his mind. Some see only clouds there; some, prodigies and por tent; some rarely look up at all; their heads, like the brutes, are directed toward earth. Some behold their serenity, purity, beauty ineffable. January 17, 1852

January 17, 2014

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 © 2009-2016