A Book of the Seasons: July 7

July 7.

Knowledge does not come
to us by details but by
lieferungs from the gods.
July 7, 1851

How wholesome these fogs–

sleep with  your windows open,

let  mist embrace you.

to wake to music
the fog bursting with birdsong
thought and poetry

senses clarified 

rise with elastic vigor

perceive more clearly–

I came near awaking this morning

I am older now,
mornings are further between,
the days are fewer.

July 7 1852

Surprised yet prepared
that the flowering season
now has reached its height.
July 7 1852


Lilies surprise me.
The flowering season now
has reached its height.
July 7, 1852

This annual drought 

is always spoken of as

unprecedented. 

July 7, 1853

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