Monday, March 14, 2016

A Book of the Seasons: March 14.

The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852


The first bird of spring 
shows two white tail feathers— 
slate-colored junco. 

Ice the next moment 
is perfect water as if
melted a million years.

The wind begins to
play in dark ripples over
the virgin water.




No sooner has the ice of Walden melted than the wind begins to play in dark ripples over the surface of the virgin water. March 14, 1860

Ice dissolved is the next moment as perfect water as if it had been melted a million years. March 14, 1860

What if our moods could dissolve thus completely? March 14, 1860

It seems as if it must rejoice in its own newly acquired fluidity, as it affects the beholder with joy. March 14, 1860

*****

 A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Ice-out


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

No comments:

Post a Comment

Popular Posts Last 30 Days.

The week ahead in Henry’s journal

The week ahead in Henry’s journal
A journal, a book that shall contain a record of all your joy.
"A stone fruit. Each one yields me a thought." ~ H. D. Thoreau, March 28, 1859


I sit on this rock
wrestling with the melody
that possesses me.