Wednesday, June 22, 2016

A Book of the Seasons: June 22 (Chapter 173)



June 22, 2013


Sometimes we are calmed
like a still lake when there is
not a breath of wind.

Without an effort
our depths revealed to our selves
as the world goes by.

We touch the world and
feel exquisite pleasure – our
Maker blessing us.

Awake to music
that no one about us hears –
we live and rejoice.

And I hear around me, but never in sight,
the many wood thrushes whetting their notes.
Always rising or falling to a new strain,
after a  pause they deliver again!
saying ever a new thing,   
the wood thrush discharges his song
like a bolas, or a piece of jingling steel.

 A succession of thunder-showers to-day 
and at sunset a rainbow . . . 
Is not the rainbow 
a faint vision of God's face?

As I come over the hill, 
I hear the wood thrush 
singing his evening lay.

I long for wildness, 
a nature which I cannot put my foot through, 
woods where the wood thrush forever sings, 
where the hours are early morning ones, 
and there is dew on the grass, 
and the day is forever unproved,
 where I might have a fertile unknown for a soil about me. 

All wilderness is
transmitted to us in the
strain of the wood thrush.

At 6 P. M. 
the temperature 
of the air is 77° . . . 
Warmest day yet.
June 22, 1855

The woods still resound 
with the note of my tweezer-bird.
 June 22, 1856

Monday. 
Took the steamer Acorn 
about 9 a. m. for Boston, 
in the fog. 

Pine pollen adhering 
to the inside of the boat
 along the water-line. 

One who is not almost daily on the river 
will not perceive the revolution constantly going on. 

The pretty new moon 
in the west is quite red 
this evening. 

June 22, 2016
If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

June 21 <<<<< June 22. >>>>>  June 23 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, June 22
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 ©  2009-2023

see also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Serene as the Sky 



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