A Book of the Seasons: April 9

April 9.

At this still season
before the crickets begin
the hum of bees heard.
April 9, 1853

Sunset after rain
the robins and song sparrows
fill the air with song.

April 9, 1855

Sitting on a rock

waiting for my pail to fill —

I hear the sap drip. 

April 9, 1856

Do we detect why
we also did not die on
the approach of spring?
April 9, 1856

Over the meadows,

singular winnowing sound.
The booming of snipe.
April 9, 1858

Watching the ripples
dash across small woodland lakes
these windy spring days.
April 9, 1859

We lie on dry sedge 

counting the rings on old stumps 

nourishing spring thoughts.

 April 9, 1859

The wind is as strong,

and yet colder from the north,

roaring in the trees.

Watching the ripples

dash across the surface of

this small woodland lake.

April 9, 2014

 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 © 2009-2017