A Book of the Seasons: January 8.

January 8.

Light of the setting

sun falling on the snow-banks

glows almost yellow.

The light of the sun falling on the snow-banks aglow. Almost yellow now.

January 8, 1851

Almost every track

made yesterday in the snow --. 

A dead leaf in it.

January 8, 1852

The sky reflected

in the open river-reach –

now perfectly smooth.

 January 8, 1855

White rabbits run and

frisk in the night leaving tracks

along the pond-side.

January 8, 1856

At sunset we land

on evening shores that skirt the

continent of night.

January 8, 1854

Along the pond-side
tracks of white rabbits that run 
and frisk in the night.

January 8, 1856

Black at the two ends 
and red-brown in the middle -- 
rolled into a ball.
January 8, 1857


A man's tracks along
the pond-side, perhaps my own,
like white stepping-stones.

January 8, 1860

Along the pond side

a man’s tracks perhaps my own

like white stepping stones.

January 8, 1860

computer compose a haiku based on this sentence, "When returning from Walden at sunset, the only cloud we saw was a small purplish one, exactly conforming to the outline of Wachusett." January 8, 1860

 

Sunset at Walden A small purple cloud in view Shaped like Wachusett

January 8, 2017

Shagbark Hickory with Porcupine  Den
January 8,  2017

"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2020