The great art of life.
tapping of the woodpecker
over the water.
March 13, 2021
I see some of my little gnats of yesterday in the morning sun, somewhat mosquito-like. March 13, 1853
Listening for early birds, I hear a faint tinkling sound in the leafless woods, as if a piece of glass rattled against a stone. March 13, 1853
6.30 A. M. — . . . I hear the rapid tapping of the woodpecker from over the water. March 13, 1855
Also I hear, I am pretty sure, the cackle of a pigeon woodpecker. March 13, 1859
But what was that familiar spring sound from the pine wood across the river, a sharp vetter vetter vetter vetter, like some woodpecker, or possibly nuthatch ? March 13, 1853
Yet I thought it the voice of the bird and not a tapping. It reminds me of the pine warbler (?), if that is it. March 13, 1853
Thermometer this morning, about 7 A. M., 2°, and the same yesterday. March 13, 1857
Quite overcast all day. Thermometer 36. March 13, 1860
This month has been windy and cold, a succession of snows one or two inches deep, soon going off, the spring birds all driven off. It is in strong contrast with the last month. March 13, 1857
Excepting a few blue birds and larks, no spring birds have come, apparently. The woods are still. March 13, 1853
Bought a telescope to-day for eight dollars. March 13, 1854
All enterprises must be self-supporting, must pay for themselves. March 13, 1853
The great art of life is how to turn the surplus life of the soul into life for the body, — that so the life be not a failure. March 13, 1853
For instance, a poet must sustain his body with his poetry. March 13, 1853
You must get your living by loving. March 13, 1853.
At evening the raw, overcast day concludes with snow and hail. March 13, 1855
Northern lights last night.
Rainbow in east this morning.
Raw, overcast day.
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
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