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.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852
Winter in the air
and ice on the water but
no snow on the ground.
November 25, 1850
Late these afternoons,
yellow sunlight reflected
through the clear cold air.
The unexpected
exhilarating yellow
light of November.
November 25, 2018
This morning the ground
is again covered with snow
deeper than before.
November 25, 1851
This morning some windows are as handsomely covered with frost as ever in winter. November 25, 1860
A clear, cold, windy day. November 25, 1853
A clear, cold, windy afternoon. November 25, 1857
(It is Thanksgiving Day.) November 26, 1857
This is November of the hardest kind, — bare frozen ground covered with pale-brown or straw-colored herbage, a strong, cold, cutting northwest wind which makes me seek to cover my ears, a perfectly clear and cloudless sky. November 25, 1857
November Eatheart, — is that the name of it? November 25, 1857
This month taxes a walker's resources more than any. November 25, 1857
There is a thin ice for half a rod in width along the shore, which shivers and breaks in the undulations of my boat. November 25, 1859
Winter weather has come suddenly this year. Last night and to-day are very cold and blustering. The house was shaken by wind last night November 25, 1860November 25, 1860
There is much ice on the meadows now, the broken edges shining in the sun. November 25, 1860
The water on the meadows . . . is skimmed over and reflects a whitish light, like silver plating, while the unfrozen river is a dark blue. November 25,1853
I found Fair Haven skimmed entirely over, though the stones which I threw down on it from the high bank on the east broke through.November 23, 1850
Pools under the north sides of hills are frozen pretty thick. November 25, 1857
Ice on the water and winter in the air, but yet not a particle of snow on the ground. November 25, 1850
The landscape, seen from the side of the hill looking westward to the horizon through this clear and sparkling air, though simple to barrenness, is very handsome. November 25, 1853
The clean light-reflecting russet earth, the dark-blue water, the dark or dingy green evergreens, the dull reddish-brown of young oaks and shrub oaks, the gray of maples and other leafless trees, and the white of birch stems. November 25, 1853
Just as the sun shines into us warmly and serenely, our Creator breathes on us and re-creates us. November 25, 1850
There is the sun a quarter of an hour high, shining on it through a perfectly clear sky, but to my eye it is singularly dark or dusky. And now the sun has disappeared. November 25, 1857
The landscape looks darker than at any season, — like arctic scenery. November 25, 1857
Ice on the water and winter in the air, but yet not a particle of snow on the ground. November 25, 1850
The landscape looked singularly clean and pure and dry, the air, like a pure glass, being laid over the picture. November 25, 1850
The mountains are remarkably distinct and appear near and elevated, but there is no snow on them. November 25, 1853
The landscape, seen from the side of the hill looking westward to the horizon through this clear and sparkling air, though simple to barrenness, is very handsome. November 25, 1853
The clean light-reflecting russet earth, the dark-blue water, the dark or dingy green evergreens, the dull reddish-brown of young oaks and shrub oaks, the gray of maples and other leafless trees, and the white of birch stems. November 25, 1853
I think that we have summer days from time to time the winter through, and that it is often the snow on the ground makes the whole difference. November 25, 1850
This afternoon, late and cold as it is, has been a sort of Indian summer. November 25, 1850
I thought that there was a finer and purer warmth than in summer; a wholesome, intellectual warmth, in which the body was warmed by the mind's contentment. November 25, 1850
I find the sunny south side of this swamp as warm as their parlors, and warmer to my spirit. November 25, 1858
The warmth was hardly sensuous, but rather the satisfaction of existence. November 25, 1850
I thought that there was a finer and purer warmth than in summer; a wholesome, intellectual warmth, in which the body was warmed by the mind's contentment. November 25, 1850
I find the sunny south side of this swamp as warm as their parlors, and warmer to my spirit. November 25, 1858
Aye, there is a serenity and warmth here which the parlor does not suggest, enhanced by the sound of the wind roaring on the northwest side of the swamp a dozen or so rods off. What a wholesome and inspiring warmth is this! November 25, 1858
Most shrub oaks there have lost their leaves (Quercus ilicifolia), which, very fair and perfect, cover the ground. November 25, 1858
The Kalmia glauca has fewer leaves now, opposite, glossy above; a very sharp two-edged twig . . . so that when the twig is held up to the light it appears alternately thicker and thinner. November 25, 1857
I see aspen (tremuliformis) leaves, which have long since fallen, turned black, which also shows the relation of this tree to the willow, many species of which also turn black. November 25, 1858
Methinks there has been more pine-sap than usual the past summer. I never saw a quarter part so much. It stands there withered in dense brown masses, six or eight inches high, partly covered with dead leaves. The tobacco-pipes are a darker brown. November 25, 1857
I experience such an interior comfort, far removed from the sense of cold, as if the thin atmosphere were rarefied by heat, were the medium of invisible flames, as if the whole landscape were one great hearthside, that where the shrub oak leaves rustle on the hillside, I seem to hear a crackling fire and see the pure flame, November 25, 1850
This afternoon the air was indescribably clear and exhilarating. November 25, 1850
I am often unexpectedly compensated, and the thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. November 25, 1857
You are surprised, late these afternoons, a half an hour perhaps before sunset, . . . to see the singularly bright yellow light of the sun reflected from pines. . .through the clear, cold air, the wind, it may be, blowing strong from the northwest.. . . and when I look round northeast I am greatly surprised by the very brilliant sunlight of which I speak, surpassing the glare of any noontide, it seems to me. November 25, 1858
The sun is unseen behind a hill. Only this bright white light like a fire falls on the trembling needles of the pine. November 25, 1851.
There is the sun a quarter of an hour high, shining on it through a perfectly clear sky, but to my eye it is singularly dark or dusky. And now the sun has disappeared. November 25, 1857
The sun had set and there was a very clear amber light in the west, and, turning about, we were surprised at the darkness in the east, the crescent of night. November 25, 1851
Saw a tree on the turnpike full of hickory-nuts which had an agreeable appearance. November 25, 1851
For some days since colder weather, I notice the snow-fleas skipping on the surface the shore. I see them today skipping by thousands in the wet clamshells left by the muskrats. These are rather a cool-weather phenomenon. November 25, 1859
I saw a muskrat come out of a hole in the ice . . . While I am looking at him, I am thinking what he is thinking of me. November 25, 1850
He would dive when I went nearer, then reappear again, and had kept open a place five or six feet square so that it had not frozen, by swimming about in it. Then he would sit on the edge of the ice and busy himself about something,
I see a fox run across the road in the twilight . . . He is on a canter, but I see the whitish tip of his tail. November 25 1857
Ditches and pools are fast skimming over, and a few slate-colored snowbirds, with thick, shuffling twitter, and fine-chipping tree sparrows flit from bush to bush, November 25, 1857
As I go up the meadow-side toward Clamshell, I see a very great collection of crows far and wide on the meadows, evidently gathered by this cold and blustering weather. They flit before me in countless numbers, flying very low on account of the strong northwest wind that comes over the hill, and a cold gleam is reflected from the back and wings of each, as from a weather-stained shingle. November 25, 1860
A large whitish-breasted bird is perched on an oak under Lee's Cliff, for half an hour at least. I think it must be a fish hawk. November 25, 1859
In this clear, cold water I see no fishes now, and it is as empty as the air. November 25, 1859
Saw also quite a flock of the pine grosbeak, a plump and handsome bird as big as a robin. November 25, 1851
I shiver about awhile on Pine Hill, waiting for the sun to set. November 25, 1857
It was warm on the face of the rocks, and I could have sat till the sun disappeared, to dream there. November 25, 1850
When I got up so high on the side of the Cliff the sun was setting like an Indian-summer sun. November 25, 1850
I hear at sundown what . . . proved to be a flock of wild geese going south. November 25, 1852
The mountains are remarkably distinct and appear near and elevated, but there is no snow on them. The white houses of the village, also, are remarkably distinct and bare and brought very near. November 25, 1853
November 25, 2017
November 25, 2015
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November Sunsets
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The hour before sunset
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Indian Summer
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, at Ledum Swamp
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Shrub Oak
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Hickory
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Aspens
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Snow-flea
A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Osprey (Fish Hawk)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Geese in Autumn
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the American Crow
A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco (Fringilla hyemalis)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Musquash
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Fox
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November days
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Seen from a Hillside
A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, First Ice
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,
November 25, 2018
November 20, 1853 ("Methinks the geese are wont to go south just before a storm, and, in the spring, to go north just after one, say at the end of a long April storm.”)
November 20, 1860 ("Decidedly finger cold tonight.")
November 21, 1852 ("I am surprised this afternoon to find the river skimmed over in some places, and Fair Haven Pond one-third frozen or skimmed over, though commonly there is scarcely any ice to be observed along the shores.")
November 22, 1860 ("Though you are finger-cold toward night, and you cast a stone on to your first ice, and see the unmelted crystals under every bank, it is glorious November weather, and only November fruits are out.”)
November 22, 1860 ("Though you are finger-cold toward night, and you cast a stone on to your first ice, and see the unmelted crystals under every bank, it is glorious November weather, and only November fruits are out.”)
November 22, 1851 ("The light of the setting sun, just emerged from a cloud and suddenly falling on and lighting up the needles of the white pine.")
November 22, 1853 (“Geese went over yesterday, and to-day also.”)
November 23, 1853 ("At 5 P. M. I saw, flying southwest high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint honking of one or two. . . . This is the sixth flock I have seen or heard of since the morning of the 17th , i . e . within a week .")
November 23, 1850 ("To-day it has been finger-cold. Unexpectedly I found ice by the side of the brooks this afternoon nearly an inch thick. ")
November 23, 1852 ("There is something genial even in the first snow, and Nature seems to relent a little of her November harshness."
November 22, 1853 (“Geese went over yesterday, and to-day also.”)
November 23, 1853 ("At 5 P. M. I saw, flying southwest high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint honking of one or two. . . . This is the sixth flock I have seen or heard of since the morning of the 17th , i . e . within a week .")
November 23, 1850 ("To-day it has been finger-cold. Unexpectedly I found ice by the side of the brooks this afternoon nearly an inch thick. ")
November 23, 1852 ("There is something genial even in the first snow, and Nature seems to relent a little of her November harshness."
November 23, 1852 ("I am surprised to see Fair Haven entirely skimmed over")
November 23, 1851 ("Another such a sunset to-night as the last.")
November 24, 1855 ("Geese went over on the 13th and 14th, on the 17th the first snow fell, and the 19th it began to be cold and blustering.”)
November 24, 1858 ("Fair Haven Pond is closed still")
November 23, 1851 ("Another such a sunset to-night as the last.")
November 24, 1855 ("Geese went over on the 13th and 14th, on the 17th the first snow fell, and the 19th it began to be cold and blustering.”)
November 24, 1858 ("Fair Haven Pond is closed still")
November 26, 1855 ("The ice next the shore bears me and my boat")
November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon. (It is Thanksgiving Day.) One end had frozen in")
November 26, 1858 ("Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual).")
November 27, 1853 (“Now a man will eat his heart, if ever, now while the earth is bare, barren and cheerless, and we have the coldness of winter without the variety of ice and snow”)
November 27, 1853 ("The days are short enough now. The sun is already setting before I have reached the ordinary limit of my walk.")
November 28, 1859 ("We make a good deal of the early twilights of these November days, they make so large a part of the afternoon.")
November 29, 1860 ("Get up my boat, 7 a. m. Thin ice of the night is floating down the river."); November 30, 1855 ("River skimmed over behind Dodd’s and elsewhere. Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.")
November 26, 1857 ("Got my boat up this afternoon. (It is Thanksgiving Day.) One end had frozen in")
November 26, 1858 ("Got in boat on account of Reynolds’s new fence going up (earlier than usual).")
November 27, 1853 (“Now a man will eat his heart, if ever, now while the earth is bare, barren and cheerless, and we have the coldness of winter without the variety of ice and snow”)
November 27, 1853 ("The days are short enough now. The sun is already setting before I have reached the ordinary limit of my walk.")
November 28, 1859 ("We make a good deal of the early twilights of these November days, they make so large a part of the afternoon.")
November 29, 1860 ("Get up my boat, 7 a. m. Thin ice of the night is floating down the river."); November 30, 1855 ("River skimmed over behind Dodd’s and elsewhere. Got in my boat. River remained iced over all day.")
November 30, 1858 ("The river may be said to have frozen generally last night.")
November 30, 1857 ("The air is full of geese. I saw five flocks within an hour, about 10 A. M., containing from thirty to fifty each, and afterward two more flocks, making in all from two hundred and fifty to three hundred at least”)
November 25, 2013
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.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November 25
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 © 2009-2022
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