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
Just after sunset
far in the west horizon –
a mackerel sky.
 |
| January 15, 2014 2:57 P.M. |
I noticed last night, just after sunset, a sheet of mackerel sky far in the west horizon, very finely imbricated and reflecting a coppery glow, and again I saw still more of it in the east this morning at sunrise, and now, at 3.30 P. M., looking up, I perceive that almost the entire heavens are covered with a very beautiful mackerel sky. January 19, 1859
A snow-storm with very high wind all last night and to-day . . . A fine dry snow, intolerable to face. January 19, 1857
I never saw the blue in snow so bright as this damp, dark, stormy morning at 7 A. M., as I was coming down the railroad. January 19, 1855
I saw it some rods off in the deep, narrow ravines of the drifts and under their edges or eaves, like the serenest blue of heaven, though the sky was, of course, wholly concealed by the driving snow-storm; suggesting that in darkest storms we may still have the hue of heaven in us. January 19, 1855
I saw that the ice, thickly covered with snow, before me was of two shades, white and darker, as far as I could see in parallel sections. January 19, 1860
At noon it is still a driving snow-storm, and a little flock of redpolls is busily picking the seeds of the pig weed in the garden. January 19, 1855
I never saw the blue in snow so bright as this damp, dark, stormy morning at 7 A. M., as I was coming down the railroad. January 19, 1855
I saw it some rods off in the deep, narrow ravines of the drifts and under their edges or eaves, like the serenest blue of heaven, though the sky was, of course, wholly concealed by the driving snow-storm; suggesting that in darkest storms we may still have the hue of heaven in us. January 19, 1855
I saw that the ice, thickly covered with snow, before me was of two shades, white and darker, as far as I could see in parallel sections. January 19, 1860
At noon it is still a driving snow-storm, and a little flock of redpolls is busily picking the seeds of the pig weed in the garden. January 19, 1855
F. hyemalis. January 19, 1858
For long distances I sink into the snow more than three feet at each step. January 19, 1852
I went forth by way of Walden road, whither no sleigh or sled had passed this day, the fine, dry snow blowing and drifting still. It was pleasant to make the first tracks in this road through the woods, January 19, 1852
From Bare Hill I looked into the west, the sun still fifteen minutes high. The snow blowing far off in the sun, high as a house, looked like the mist that rises from rivers in the morning. January 19, 1852
This snow looks just like vapor curling along over the surface, — long waving lines producing the effect of a watered surface . . . the whole surface in motion, like a low, thin, but infinitely broad stream made up of a myriad meandering rills of vapor flowing over the surface. January 19, 1860
A mile off I see the pickerel-fisher returning from the Holt, taking his way across the frozen meadows before sunset toward his hut on the distant bank. January 19, 1859
He starts early, knowing how quickly the sun goes down. January 19, 1859
The pail shines brightly more than a mile off, reflecting the setting sun. January 19, 1859
Methinks this pink on snow (as well as blue shadows) requires a clear, cold evening. January 19, 1859
I went forth by way of Walden road, whither no sleigh or sled had passed this day, the fine, dry snow blowing and drifting still. It was pleasant to make the first tracks in this road through the woods, January 19, 1852
We go through the Spring Woods, over the Cliff, by the wood-path at its base to Walden, and thence by the path to Brister’s Hill, and by road home. There is not a single fresh track on the back road. January 19, 1855
The trees are everywhere bent into the path like bows tautly strung, and you have only to shake them with your hand or foot, when they rise up and make way for you. January 19, 1855
We go winding between and stooping or creeping under them, fearing to touch them, lest they should relieve themselves of their burden and let fall an avalanche or shower of snow on to us. January 19, 1855
The trees are everywhere bent into the path like bows tautly strung, and you have only to shake them with your hand or foot, when they rise up and make way for you. January 19, 1855
We go winding between and stooping or creeping under them, fearing to touch them, lest they should relieve themselves of their burden and let fall an avalanche or shower of snow on to us. January 19, 1855
I came across lots through the dry white powder from Britton's camp. Very cold on the causeway and on the hilltops. January 19, 1852
From Bare Hill I looked into the west, the sun still fifteen minutes high. The snow blowing far off in the sun, high as a house, looked like the mist that rises from rivers in the morning. January 19, 1852
This snow looks just like vapor curling along over the surface, — long waving lines producing the effect of a watered surface . . . the whole surface in motion, like a low, thin, but infinitely broad stream made up of a myriad meandering rills of vapor flowing over the surface. January 19, 1860
A mile off I see the pickerel-fisher returning from the Holt, taking his way across the frozen meadows before sunset toward his hut on the distant bank. January 19, 1859
He starts early, knowing how quickly the sun goes down. January 19, 1859
The pail shines brightly more than a mile off, reflecting the setting sun. January 19, 1859
To-night I notice, this warm evening, that there is most green in the ice when I go directly from the sun. January 19, 1859
There is also considerable when I go directly toward it, but more than that a little one side; but when I look at right angles with the sun, I see none at all. January 19, 1859
The water (where open) is also green. January 19, 1859
I see a rosy tinge like dust on the snow when I look directly toward the setting sun, but very little on the hills. January 19, 1859
There is also considerable when I go directly toward it, but more than that a little one side; but when I look at right angles with the sun, I see none at all. January 19, 1859
The water (where open) is also green. January 19, 1859
I see a rosy tinge like dust on the snow when I look directly toward the setting sun, but very little on the hills. January 19, 1859
Methinks this pink on snow (as well as blue shadows) requires a clear, cold evening. January 19, 1859
The low western sky an Indian red, after the sun was gone. January 19, 1852
The sweet-fern retains its serrate terminal leaves. January 19, 1859
December 14, 1859 ("Snow-storms might be classified. This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north, so that it is quite blinding to face, almost as much so as sand.")
To make the first tracks
February 9, 1855 ("I was so sure this storm would bring snowbirds into the yard that I went to the window at ten to look for them, and there they were. “);
February 10, 1855 ("It is worth the while to let some pigweed grow in your garden, if only to attract these winter visitors. ")
February 13, 1853 ("I am called to window to see a dense flock of snowbirds, on and under the pigweed in the garden. . . . They come with the storm, the falling and driving snow.")
February 16, 1852 ("I see the steam-like snow-dust curling up and careering along over the fields. . . .like the spray on a beach before the northwest wind.")
February 19, 1852 ("Considering the melon-rind arrangement of the clouds, by an ocular illusion the bars appearing to approach each other in the east and west horizons, I am prompted to ask whether the melons will not be found to be in this direction oftenest."); February 21, 1854 ("The ice in the fields by the poorhouse road — frozen puddles — amid the snow, looking westward now while the sun is about setting, in cold weather, is green.”)
February 28, 1852 (“To get the value of the storm we must be out a long time and travel far in it, so that it may fairly penetrate our skin, . . . and there be no part in us but is wet or weather beaten, - so that we become storm men instead of fair weather men.”)
March 19, 1859 ("The white pines in the horizon, either single trees or whole woods, a mile off in the southwest or west, are particularly interesting.")
The sweet-fern retains its serrate terminal leaves. January 19, 1859
At this season we do not want any more color. January 19, 1859
The sky is most wonderfully and beautifully mottled with evenly distributed cloudlets, of indescribable variety . . . Something like this blue and white mottling, methinks, is seen on a mackerel, and has suggested the name. January 19, 1859
Coming up the street in the twilight, it occurs to me that I know of no more agreeable object to bound our view, looking outward through the vista of our elm lined streets, than the pyramidal tops of a white pine forest in the horizon. January 19, 1859
As I come home through the village at 8.15 P. M., by a bright moonlight, the moon nearly full and not more than 18° from the zenith, the wind northwest, but not strong, and the air pretty cold, I see the melon-rind arrangement of the clouds on a larger scale and more distinct than ever before. January 19, 1856
Coming up the street in the twilight, it occurs to me that I know of no more agreeable object to bound our view, looking outward through the vista of our elm lined streets, than the pyramidal tops of a white pine forest in the horizon. January 19, 1859
As I come home through the village at 8.15 P. M., by a bright moonlight, the moon nearly full and not more than 18° from the zenith, the wind northwest, but not strong, and the air pretty cold, I see the melon-rind arrangement of the clouds on a larger scale and more distinct than ever before. January 19, 1856
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White Pines
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Pickerel
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Birds
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Lesser Redpoll
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Snow-storms might be classified
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, When the ice turns green
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Colors
December 14, 1859 ("Snow-storms might be classified. This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north, so that it is quite blinding to face, almost as much so as sand.")
December 20, 1851 ('The pines impress me as human. A slight vaporous cloud floats high over them, while in the west the sun goes down apace behind glowing pines, and golden clouds like mountains skirt the horizon. Nothing stands up more free from blame in this world than a pine tree.')
December 21, 1851 ("To-night, as so many nights within the year, the clouds arrange themselves in the east at sunset in long converging bars, according to the simple tactics of the sky. It is the melon-rind jig . . . converging bars inclose the day at each end as within a melon rind, and the morning and evening are one day")December 21, 1855 ("A few simple colors now prevail.”)
December 23, 1859 ("Even the fisherman, who perhaps has not observed any sign but that the sun is ready to sink beneath the horizon, is winding up his lines and starting for home.. . . In a clear but pleasant winter day, I walk away till the ice begins to look green and I hear it boom, or perhaps till the snow reflects a rosy light")
December 25, 1858 (“The sun getting low now, say at 3.30, I see the ice green, southeast.”
December 26, 1853 ("The pure and trackless road up Brister's Hill, with branches and trees supporting snowy burdens bending over it on each side . . .")
December 25, 1856 ("Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary")December 26, 1853 ("The pure and trackless road up Brister's Hill, with branches and trees supporting snowy burdens bending over it on each side . . .")
December 29, 1859 ("The clouds were very remarkable this cold afternoon, about twenty minutes before sunset, consisting of very long and narrow white clouds converging in the horizon (melon-rind-wise) both in the west and east")
January 2, 1856 ("I see, near the back road and railroad, a small flock of eight snow buntings feeding on the the seeds of the pigweed.")
January 3, 1858 (" I see a flock of F. hyemalis this afternoon, the weather is hitherto so warm");
January 3, 1858 (" I see a flock of F. hyemalis this afternoon, the weather is hitherto so warm");
January 9, 1852 ("Apparently the snow absorbs the other rays and reflects the blue.").
January 11, 1855 ("The air so thick with snowflakes . . . Single pines stand out distinctly against it in the near horizon.")
January 14, 1860 ("Those little groves of sweet-fern still thickly leaved, whose tops now rise above the snow, are an interesting warm brown-red now . . . It has a wild and jagged leaf, alternately serrated. A warm reddish color revealed by the snow.")
January 17, 1860 ("When I reached the open railroad causeway returning, there was a splendid sunset. The northwest sky at first was what you may call a lattice sky, the fair weather establishing itself first on that side in the form of a long and narrow crescent, in which the clouds, which were uninterrupted overhead, were broken into long bars parallel to the horizon.")
January 18, 1852 ("The pines, some of them, seen through this fine driving snow, have a bluish hue")
January 18, 1858 (" The F. hyemalis about.")
January 18, 1859 ("When the fog was a little thinner, so that you could see the pine woods a mile or more off, they were a distinct dark blue.")
.
To make the first tracks
in this road through the woods as
snow blows and drifts still.
I never saw blue
in snow so bright as this damp
dark stormy morning.
January 19, 1855
The pyramidal
tops of a white pine forest
in the horizon.
January 20, 1855 ("I sit looking up at the mackerel sky ")
January 20, 1855 ("The pines — mostly white — have at this season a warm brown or yellowish tinge, and the oaks— chiefly young white ones — are comparatively red. The black oak I see is more yellowish")
January 20, 1855 ("You have these colors of the evergreens and oaks in winter for warmth and contrast with the snow.")
January 20, 1855 ("The pines — mostly white — have at this season a warm brown or yellowish tinge, and the oaks— chiefly young white ones — are comparatively red. The black oak I see is more yellowish")
January 20, 1855 ("You have these colors of the evergreens and oaks in winter for warmth and contrast with the snow.")
January 20, 1856 ("I see the blue between the cakes of snow cast out in making a path, in the triangular recesses, though it is pretty cold, but the sky is completely overcast")
January 20, 1859 ("The green of the ice and water begins to be visible about half an hour before sunset. ")
January 21, 1853 ("The blueness of the sky at night — the color it wears by day — is an everlasting surprise to me, . . . The night is not black when the air is clear, but blue still.")
January 21, 1855 ("The snow is turning to rain through a fine hail. Pines and oaks seen at a distance — say two miles off — are considerably blended and make one harmonious impression. The former, if you attend, are seen to be of a blue or misty black, and the latter form commonly a reddish-brown ground out of which the former rise. These colors are no longer in strong contrast with each other. )
January 23, 1859 ("I notice on the ice where it slopes up eastward a little, a distinct rosy light (or pink) reflected from it generally, half an hour before sunset. This is a colder evening than of late, and there is so much the more of it.")
February 5, 1855 (“the fine snow, blowing over the meadow in parallel streams between which the darker ice was seen, looked just like the steam curling along the surface of a river.”)February 9, 1855 ("I was so sure this storm would bring snowbirds into the yard that I went to the window at ten to look for them, and there they were. “);
February 10, 1855 ("It is worth the while to let some pigweed grow in your garden, if only to attract these winter visitors. ")
February 13, 1853 ("I am called to window to see a dense flock of snowbirds, on and under the pigweed in the garden. . . . They come with the storm, the falling and driving snow.")
February 16, 1852 ("I see the steam-like snow-dust curling up and careering along over the fields. . . .like the spray on a beach before the northwest wind.")
February 19, 1852 ("Considering the melon-rind arrangement of the clouds, by an ocular illusion the bars appearing to approach each other in the east and west horizons, I am prompted to ask whether the melons will not be found to be in this direction oftenest."); February 21, 1854 ("The ice in the fields by the poorhouse road — frozen puddles — amid the snow, looking westward now while the sun is about setting, in cold weather, is green.”)
February 28, 1852 (“To get the value of the storm we must be out a long time and travel far in it, so that it may fairly penetrate our skin, . . . and there be no part in us but is wet or weather beaten, - so that we become storm men instead of fair weather men.”)
March 19, 1859 ("The white pines in the horizon, either single trees or whole woods, a mile off in the southwest or west, are particularly interesting.")
January 19, 2023
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.
January 18 <<<<<<<< January 19 >>>>>>>> January 20
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, January 19
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 © 2009-2024
tinyurl.com/hdt19jan
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