A Book of the Seasons: Basho's Commentary

If you make the least correct 

observation of nature . . . 

the season and life itself is prolonged.

  Henry Thoreau, April 7, 1853 

March. The frogs are now heard leaping into the ditches on your approach . . . I see the dimples where the croakers which were on the surface have dived . . . They are very wary, and instantly dive to the bottom . . . Later, in a pool behind Lee's Cliff, I hear them, – the waking up of the leafy pools.

The frogs are now heard

leaping into the ditches

on your approach. 

HDT ~ March 30, 1858

An old pond

a frog jumps in —

sound of water.

~ Basho

May. Young blueberries every where in bloom, and Viola pedata along the woodland paths, in high land.  Sorrel in bloom, beginning. I am eager to taste a handful.

Viola pedata

along the woodland paths

in high land.

HDT ~ May 21, 1852

On mountain path

greeted by

a wild violet.

~ Basho

June. All the phenomena of nature need be seen from the point of view of wonder and awe, like lightning; and, on the other hand, the lightning itself needs to be regarded with serenity, as the most familiar and innocent phenomena are.

Wonder awe

innocence serenity –

lightning!

HDT ~  June 27, 1852

How admirable!

to see lightning and not think

life is fleeting.

~ Basho

July. Before I rise I hear the song of birds from out the fog, like the bursting of its bubbles with music, the bead on liquids just uncorked . . . I am older than last year; the mornings are further between; the days are fewer.  

Birds from out the fog,

I am older than last year –

the days are fewer.

HDT ~ July 7, 1852

This autumn

why am I aging so?

Bird in a cloud.

~ Basho

July. This might be called the Haymaker's Moon, for I perceive that when the day has been oppressively warm the haymakers rest at noon and resume their mowing after sunset, sometimes quite into evening.

Oppressively warm,

the haymakers rest at noon –

the Haymaker's Moon.

HDT ~ July 13, 1851

All the field hands

enjoy a noontime nap after

the autumn moon.

~ Basho

August. The little bees have gone to sleep amid the clethra blossoms in the rain and are not yet aroused.

The little bees sleep

amid blossoms in the rain

and are not aroused.

HDT ~ August 4, 1852

A bee

staggers out

of the peony.

~Basho

August. It is the turning-point between afternoon and evening. The few sounds now heard, far or near, are delicious. It is not more dusky and obscure, but clearer than before. Each sound has a broad and deep relief of silence.

Clearer than before 

each sound has a broad and deep 

relief of silence. 

HDT  ~ August 11, 1853

The silence –

the voice of the cicadas

penetrates the rocks.

~ Basho

October. One crow lingers on a limb of the dead oak till I am within a dozen rods. There is strong and blustering northwest wind, and when it launches off to follow its comrades it is blown up and backward still nearer to me. 

One crow lingers

on a limb of the dead oak . . .

strong blustering wind.

HDT ~ October 6, 1860

On a bare branch 

a solitary crow –

autumn evening.

~ Basho 

October. The moon beginning to wane . . . The forest has lost so many leaves that its floor and paths are much more checkered with light. I hear no sound but the rustling of the withered leaves, and, on the wooded hilltops, the roar of the wind. Each tree resounds all night.

The roar of the wind

on the wooded hilltops – each

tree resounds all night.

HDT ~ October 28, 1852

All night long

listening to autumn winds

wandering the mountain.

~ Basho 

December.  For years my appetite was so strong that I fed — I browsed — on the pine forest's edge seen against the winter horizon . . . fed my imagination on them, — far-away, ideal trees . . . the value of the forest for me [was] in that line where it was relieved against the sky.

The pine forest's edge –

that far line seen against the

winter horizon.

HDT ~ December 3, 1856  

 

Coolness

the clean lines

of the wild pine.

~ Basho

December. The dear privacy and retirement and solitude which winter makes possible!  This evening for the first time the new moon is reflected from the frozen snow-crust.

Winter solitude –

the new moon reflected from

the frozen snow crust.

HDT ~ December 8, 1850

Winter solitude –

in a world of one color

the sound of wind.

~Basho

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Basho's Commentary

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 © 2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-Basho

A Book of the Seasons: A Pleasing Melancholy

A year is made up of a certain series and 

number of sensations and thoughts 

which have their language in nature . . .

 Each experience reduces itself to a mood of the mind. 

Henry Thoreau, June 6, 1857

I hear a cricket

and am penetrated with 

the sense of autumn. 

August 4, 1851

A sound reminds me

past autumns, lapse of time – so

little brought to pass.

August 18, 1856

May 24. Our most glorious experiences are a kind of regret . . . the painful, plaintively sad surprise of our Genius remembering our past lives and contemplating what is possible . . . it is glorious for us to be able to regret even such an existence.  May 24, 1851

July 31.  I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years. July 31, 1856

August 17.   I feel as if this coolness would do me good. If it only makes my life more pensive! Why should pensiveness be akin to sadness? There is a certain fertile sadness which I would not avoid, but rather earnestly seek. It is positively joyful to me. It saves my life from being trivial. My life flows with a deeper current, no longer as a shallow and brawling stream, parched and shrunken by the summer heats. This coolness comes to condense the dews and clear the atmosphere. August 17, 1851

August 18. It plainly makes men sad to think. Hence pensiveness is akin to sadness.  August 18, 1851

August 18. What means this sense of lateness that so comes over one now? — now is the season of fruits; but where is our fruit? August 18, 1853 

August 18.  I hear the steady (not intermittent) shrilling of apparently the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. Hear it, but see it not. It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time, suggests a pleasing, thoughtful melancholy, like the sound of the flail.  Such preparation, such an outfit has our life, and so little brought to pass!  August 18, 1856 

August 20.  There is more shadow in the landscape than a week ago, methinks, and the creak of the cricket sounds cool and steady. The grass and foliage and landscape generally are of a more thought-inspiring color, suggest what some perchance would call a pleasing melancholy. August 20, 1858

August 28. In my experience, at least of late years, all that depresses a man's spirits is the sense of remissness, — duties neglected, unfaithfulness, — or shamming, impurity, falsehood, selfishness, inhumanity, and the like.  August 28, 1854

August 28. Perchance you have worried yourself, despaired of the world, meditated the end of life, and all things seemed rushing to destruction; but nature has steadily and serenely advanced with a turtle's pace. August 28, 1856

October 26. I awoke this morning to infinite regret. October 26, 1851

October 31. I hear the sound of the flailing . . . and gradually draw near to it from the woods, thinking many things.  October 31, 1860

See also 

A Book of the Seasons,   by Henry Thoreau, Midsummer midlife blues

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Cricket in August

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  A Pleasing Melancholy

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 ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdtmelancholy

A Book of the Seasons: Zizania (Wild Rice)

 [Zizania aquatica var. aquatica (Annual wild rice)]

 I would make a chart of our life,

know why just this circle of creatures

completes the world.

Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852

 Tall and slender

 zizania panicle 

waving on the shore.

August 6, 1854

 Annually we 

gather wild rice with grateful 

awe, like Chippewas. 

September 2, 1856

By the water's edge

the zizania stands still, 

spires empty of grain.

October 25, 1852

July 22. Zizania, a day, with a handsome light-green panicle a foot or more long, a long slender stem, and corn-like leaves frequently more than an inch wide. July 22, 1854 

July 24. The zizania, some days . . . At least two kinds of grass as tall as the zizania have preceded it along the river. July 24, 1853

July 27 Zizania scarce out some days at least. July 27, 1856

August 6. Interesting here and there the tall and slender zizania waving on the shore, with its light panicle eighteen inches or more in length. August 6, 1854

August 12. Zizania several days. August 12, 1860

August 14.  The zizania now makes quite a show along the river. August 14, 1859

August 15. Wild [rice], apparently in prime. This is quite interesting and handsome, so tall and loose. The lower, spreading and loosely drooping, dangling or blown one side like a flag, staminate branches of its ample panicle are of a lively yellowish green, contrasting with the very distant upright pistillate branches, suggesting a spear with a small flag at the base of its head. It is our wild grain, unharvested. August 15, 1858

August 16. Zizania aquatica, Indian or Canadian rice, or water oats, like slender corn. How long? August 16, 1852

August 18. The zizania on the north side of the river near the Holt, or meadow watering-place, is very conspicuous and abundant. August 18, 1854  

August 20. The zizania is pretty abundant in the river, in rear of Joseph Hosmer's . . . Very many water-plants – pontederias, lilies, zizania, etc., etc. – are now going to seed, prepared to feed the migrating waterfowl, etc. August 20, 1854

August 24. The zizania is the greater part out of bloom; i. e., the yellowish - anthered (?) stamens are gone; the wind has blown them away. August 24, 1858

September 2 We are dwelling amid these wild plants still, we are eating the huckleberries which lately only the Indian ate and dried, we are raising and eating his wild and nutritive maize, and if we have imported wheat, it is but our wild rice, which we annually gather with grateful awe, like Chippewas. September 2, 1856

September 3.  Zizania still. September 3, 1858

September 5.  I find some zizania grains almost black. September 5, 1854

September 15. The grain of the wild rice is all green yet. September 15, 1859

September 16. See no zizania seed ripe, or black, yet, but almost all is fallen. September 16, 1860

September 24. The zizania ripe, shining black, cylindrical kernels, five eighths of an inch long. September 24, 1852

September 25. The zizania fruit is green yet, but mostly dropped or plucked. Does it fall, or do birds pluck it? September 25, 1858

September 30. The wild rice is almost entirely fallen or eaten, apparently by some insect, but I see some green and also black grains left. September 30, 1859

October 25. The sheen on the water blinds my eyes. The zizania stands still, with its slender spires empty of grain, by the water's edge. October 25, 1852

See also:.

Northern woodlands, New England’s Wild Rice ("The season for gathering rice is short, about 10 to 14 days at the beginning of September.")

Vermont Fish and Wildllife Department, Wild Rice Marsh ("Flowers are borne in a large panicle at the top of the plant, with male flowers on the lower spreading branches of the panicle and the female flowers at the top. The dark grain, or caryopsis, of wild rice matures in the early fall")

US Forest Service, Annual Wildrice

Illustration by Adelaide Tyrol

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Zizania (wild rice)

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 ©  2009-2026

A Book of the Seasons: Green Berries

 I would make a chart of our life,

know why just this circle of creatures

completes the world.

Henry Thoreau, April 18, 1852

It is but a step

from flowers to fruit – the size

of these green berries!

May 19.  With what unobserved secure dispatch nature advances! The amelanchiers have bloomed, and already both kinds have shed their blossoms and show minute green fruit. There is not an instant's pause! May 19, 1854 

May 30.  I see now green high blueberries, and gooseberries in Hubbard's Close, as well as shad-bush berries and strawberries.   May 30, 1854

June 6. The earliest blueberries are now forming as greenberries. June 6, 1852

June 7. I am surprised at the size of green berries, -- shad-bush, low blueberries, choke-cherries, etc., etc. It is but a step from flowers to fruit. June 7, 1854

June 19. Notice green berries, — blueberries and huckleberries. June 19, 1859

June 27.   That tree-like cornel by the Heywood Meadow Brook, now showing green fruit, must be the alternate- leaved cornel. June 27, 1852

Alternate-leaf dogwood

July 10, 2026

Partridge-berry

July 10, 2026

Blueberry

July 11, 2026

July 22.  The green berries of the arum are seen . . . and the round green-pea-sized green berries of the axil-flowering Solomon's-seal.  July 22, 1852

July 24. The medeola is still in flower, though with large green berries . . . A spikenard just beyond the spring has already pretty large green berries, though a few flowers. July 24, 1853

August 2. I am not sure but the bunches of the smooth sumach berries are handsomest when but partly turned, the crimson contrasting with the green, the green berries showing a velvety crimson cheek. August 2, 1853

August 27. The Medeola Virginica, cucumber-root, the whorl-leaved plant, is now in green fruit. August 27, 1851

See also 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Partridge-berry (Mitchella Repens);  

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Alternate-leafed dogwood (Cornus alternifolia);

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, As the Seasons Revolve

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: Green Berries

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 ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-greenberries