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.
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~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2016
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
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