A Book of the Seasons: February 20.

February 20.

The northerly wind

roaring in the woods to-day

reminds me of March.

February 20, 1855

The bright-blue water

here and there between the ice 

and on the meadow. 

February 20, 1855

A natural fact.

A bird and the ear --the one 

made for the other.

February 20, 1857

I am as a rock

by the pond-side affected

by natural sound.

February 20, 1857

February 20, 2012

If I were to discover

that a certain kind of stone

by the pond-shore was affected,

say partially disintegrated,

by a particular natural sound,

as of a bird or insect,

I see that one

could not be completely described

without describing the other.

I am that rock by the pond-side.

February 20, 1857

The last two or three days have been among the coldest in the winter, though not so cold as a few weeks ago. February 20, 1852

It is decided March weather, and I see from my window the bright-blue water here and there between the ice and on the meadow. February 20, 1855

We see the tracks of mice on the snow in the woods, or once in a year one glances by like a flash through the grass or ice at our feet, and that is for the most part all that we see of them. February 20, 1855

I know that we have here in Concord are at least twenty-one and perhaps twenty-six quadrupeds. . . . Some, though numerous, are rarely seen, as the wild mice and moles. Others are very rare, like the otter and raccoon. February 20, 1855

See a broad and distinct otter-trail, made last night or yesterday. February 20, 1856


What is the relation between a bird and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, perchance, it is more charming and significant than to any else? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one was made for the other. It is a natural fact February 20, 1857

If I were to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond-shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a particular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. February 20, 1857

I am that rock by the pond-side. February 20, 1857

What is hope, what is expectation, but a seed-time whose harvest cannot fail, an irresistible expedition of the mind, at length to be victorious ? February 20, 1857

Snows all day. The most wintry day of the winter; yet not more than three inches on a level is fallen. February 20, 1858


First the snow fell deep and level on the 18th, then, the 19th, came high wind. February 20, 1860

I notice a very pale pink reflection from snowy roofs and sides of white houses at sunrise. So both the pink and the green are phenomena of the morning. February 20, 1860

*****

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 © 2009-2018