November 24.
The river has risen considerably, at last, owing to the rain of the 22d. Had been very low before.
See, on the railroad-slope by the pond, and also some days ago, a flock of goldfinches eating the seed of the Roman wormwood.
At Spanish Brook Path, the witch-hazel (one flower) lingers.
I observe that ferns grow especially where there is an abrupt or broken bank, as where, in the woods, sand has been anciently dug out of a hillside to make a dam with and the semicircular scar has been covered with a sod and shrubs again. The shelter and steepness are favorable when there is shade and moisture.
How pretty amid the downy and cottony fruits of November the heads of the white anemone, raised a couple of feet from the ground on slender stalks, two or three together, — small heads of yellowish-white down, compact and regular as a thimble beneath, but, at this time, diffusive and bursting forth above, somewhat like a little torch with its flame, — a very neat object!
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 24, 1859
New and collected mind-prints. by Zphx. Following H.D.Thoreau 170 years ago today. Seasons are in me. My moods periodical -- no two days alike.
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