The first day of fall and the first day of fall weather.

  

The mountains distinct

we see white sails on the lake

the first day of fall.

zphx – 20180922

September 22, 2018

September 22, 2026

I think of the trees

Sometimes I think of the trees in the forest
each rooted in its own spot there to live it’s life

in winter awaiting the flow of the sap
to unfold an array of leaves

none of which is in the shade
always reaching higher

then flowers nuts and seeds
and the sprouts carpeting the forest floor

and in the fall leaves
rustling underfoot making new soil

branches overhead
brattling in the breeze

fractal patterns against the sky
I sometimes think of the trees.

Zphx 20190221

CAN YOU IMAGINE? For example, what the trees do not only in lightning storms or the watery dark of a summer night or under the white nets of winter but now, and now, and now-whenever we're not looking. Surely you can't imagine they just stand there looking the way they look when we're looking; surely you can't imagine they don't dance, from the root up, wishing to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly more shade-surely you can't imagine they just stand there loving every minute of it; the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings of the years slowly and without a sound thickening, and nothing different unless the wind, and then only in its own mood, comes to visit, surely you can't imagine patience, and happiness, like that. ~ Mary Oliver 

Trees, the naked trees, stopped

in their tracks, so peaceful

talking together.

~ Hayden Carruth

At the east window

 

Sitting on this rock

wrestling with the melody

that possesses me.

The moon reflected

from the rippled surface like

a stream of dollars.

A distant piano –

the bare lichen-covered gray

rock in the moonlight.

At the east window

the clock strikes plainly ten or

eleven P.M.

Sobered by moonlight

sensing my own existence

who I am and where.

I am fitted to 

hear – my being moves in a 

sphere of melody.

zphx- 20240803

I have found all things thus far,

persons and inanimate matter, elements and seasons,

strangely adapted to my resources.

Henry Thoreau, A Week (Wednesday)

*****

May 23, 1854 ("I sat for hours on rocks and wrestled with the melody which possessed me.")

July 8, 1854 ("The moon reflected from the rippled surface like a stream of dollars.")

August 3, 1852 (" At the east window. — A temperate noon. I hear a cricket creak in the shade; also the sound of a distant piano. . . . At length the melody steals into my being . . . By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe, I am fitted to hear, my being moves in a sphere of melody.")

January 1, 1852 ("Perhaps the only thing that spoke to me on this walk was the bare, lichen-covered gray rock at the Cliff, in the moonlight, naked and almost warm as in summer.")

April 18, 1852 ("An east wind. I hear the clock strike plainly ten or eleven P.M."); 

May 3, 1852 ("The clock strikes distinctly, showing the wind is easterly. There is a grand, rich, musical echo trembling on the air long after the clock has ceased to strike, like a vast organ, filling the air with a trembling music like a flower of sound.")

August 5, 1851 ("As the twilight deepens and the moonlight is more and more bright, I begin to distinguish myself, who I am and where; as my walls contract, I become more collected and composed, and sensible of my own existence, as when a lamp is brought into a dark apartment and I see who the company are. With the coolness and the mild silvery light, I recover some sanity, my thoughts are more distinct, moderated, and tempered. Reflection is more possible . . . I am sobered by the moonlight.")

See also: 

A Book of the Seasons,, Nature is genial to man
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A body awake in the world.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I am a rock

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, At the east window

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/hdt-eastwindow

Oh Forsythia

April 16, 2024

Oh Forsythia!

asteroids tumbling in space

awake in the night.

Earth Rock Ice Water Cloud Wind Sun Stars Life

The streams break up; 

            the ice goes to the sea. 

Then sails the fish hawk overhead,

        looking for his prey.

Henry Thoreau, April 14, 1852

Generalize the anthropic principle to all life: What is it called that Nature is exactly suited to all life? –– A spring thought walking in woods at dusk after hearing peepers and wood frog for the first time, feeling everything is perfect for me and realizing so it is 

for every leaf 

and every creature in the 

woods now renewed.

March 31, 2016

Melting snows seek the sea

spawning fish flow upstream –

spring mystery solved!

See A Week, Wednesday ("I have found all things thus far, persons and inanimate matter, elements and seasons, strangely adapted to my resources."); Walden, Economy ("Nature is as well adapted to our weakness as to our strength.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature is genial to man (the anthropic principle)

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

Do it well

What is that lyric I am reminded of?

It’s Buckets of Rain, by Bob Dylan:

Life is sad

Life is a bust

All ya can do is do what you must

You do what you must do 

              and ya do it well

Rosanne Cash interviewed by Scott Simon in January 2024 said “I have this thing I wrote in my old datebook. I actually saw yesterday which said (paraphrasing Gandhi)

"what you do will be insignificant, but it’s essential that you do it.” *

 

And here is Antonio Machado –

Slowly form nice neat letters; 

doing things well 

is more important than doing them. 

(Proverb XXI )

Of course it all comes from Aristotle –

“. . . human good turns out to be activity of soul in accordance with virtue . . .”

In Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle explains that happiness is the highest good is (Greek eudaimonia, literally meaning ‘good spirits’), and that living and doing well are the same as being happy. Eudaimonia  is “excellence of performing the proper function.” – doing things well.

As Thoreau says: The motive of the laborer should be not to get his living, to get a good job, but to perform well a certain work. ~ June 15, 1852

Do the things which lie 

nearest to you – but which are 

difficult to do.

January 12, 1852

You do what you must do 

             and ya do it well.

~ Zphx

See note to A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, What we do best or most perfectly ("What we do best or most perfectly is what we have most thoroughly learned by the longest practice.")

*Here is the quote from Gandhi:

“Almost everything you do will seem insignificant, 

but it is important that you do it.”

Farewell, my friend (by moonlight all is simple)

 

 

We drifted apart

asteroids tumbling in space

the heat of the sun.

(April 25)

The other day I rowed in my boat

 a free even lovely young lady

and as I plied the oars

 she sat in the stern

 and there was

nothing but she

 between me

and the sky.

Along the river

the memory of roses --

late rose now in prime.

Thoughts of autumn and

the memory of past years

occupy my mind.

What you can recall of a walk

on the second day will differ from

what you remember on the first day --

as to one who is

journeying amid mountains

any view changes.

Farewell, my friend

my path inclines

 to this side the mountain,

yours to that --

for a long time you have appeared

further and further off to me --

I see that you will at length

 disappear altogether--

 for a season my path

seemed lonely without you --

the memory of me is steadily

passing away from you --

 my path grows narrower and steeper

and the night is approaching.

 I am struck by this sudden solitude

and remoteness that these places have acquired.

This evening for the first time the new moon

is reflected from the frozen snow-crust.

She who was as the morning light to me
is now neither the morning star
nor the evening star.

[June 19, 1840,  March 28, 1856,  July 23, 1860, 

July 31, 1856,  January 10, 1854, December 8, 1850 , October 27, 1851]

This moment in memory

half the leaves of our love

are still on the tree

and half have fallen

like a reflection.

(October 16)

See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting;  May 27, 1859 ("These expressions of the face of Nature are as constant and sure to recur as those of the eyes of maidens, from year to year, — sure to be repeated as long as time lasts.")

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Farewell my friend

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

tinyurl.com/HDTfarewellmyfriend

My moods are periodical.

The other day I rowed in my boat a free even lovely young lady and as I plied the oars she sat in the stern and there was nothing but she between me and the sky. June 19, 1840

What if we feel a yearning to which no breast answers?

I walk alone. My heart is full. 

Feelings impede the current of my thoughts. 

I knock on the earth but no friend appears –

perhaps none

 is dreaming of me.

June 11, 1855

Hardly two nights are alike. 

 I seem to be nearer to the origin of things.

 My spiritual side takes a more distinct form,

 like my shadow which I see accompanying me

I ask, “Who is this?”

 as I am about to

 sit down on a rock. 

No one,

 to my knowledge,

 has observed the minute differences in the seasons.

 A book of the seasons, 

each page of which should be written

 in its own season and out-of-doors, 

or in its own locality 

wherever it may be. 

June 11, 1851

I love you like I love the sky,

I think of you as an angel there.

I love you like I love the stars,

I want to give you every one.

Zphx 20220611

See 18510611, 18571026

Columbine birdsong (I saw the world as through a glass, as it lies eternally)

May 12. 

As the bay-wing sang 

many thousand years ago

so sang he to-night. 

A brother poet

this small gray bird (or bard)

whose muse inspires mine. 

One with the rocks and with us.

To be inspired  

a thousand years hence – 

be in harmony to-day.

May 12, 1857

(avesong)

See Walden (“I heard a robin in the distance, the first I had heard for many a thousand years, methought, whose note I shall not forget for many a thousand more”); May 23, 1841 ("All nature is a new impression every instant”); August 19, 1851("Nature rests no longer at her culminating point than at any other. If you are not out at the right instant, the summer may go by and you not see it.”);  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A body awake in the world.; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I am a rock

My photos from this time of year show the columbine is already out (in some profusion at that ledge near the view) but I haven’t seen any this year. I asked Jane at the view last night and she speaks of the dryness but says she’s noticed one somewhere near the house.  This morning I’m reading Henry‘s account of becoming aware, while otherwise engaged in some sort of work, of the immortal song of the bay wing sparrow -- how it transports him and how a good part of the experience is the reminiscence that the birdsong brings of farmhouses and summer days and sunsets, and how in order to have this experience “1000 years hence”-- this reminiscence and spark of inspiration -- one must be in the moment now.  

Musing about all this now walking the dog, I unexpectedly see one ragged little columbine near the path and it brings back a flood of childhood memories when I first discovered this flower and how I felt at the time it was so much a part of me and my summers. This moment now. This columbine by the path-side.

zphx 20220512

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

I hear the Hermit Thrush for the first time. Have I heard it before and not noticed? -- The Spring Arrival of the Hermit Thrush

April 16, 2017

 I hear the Hermit Thrush for the first time. Have I heard it before and not noticed?

Walking the dog just after 7 AM I notice that I am hearing a hermit thrush singing a call so familiar it seems like it had always been here.  The world can never be more beautiful. 

It’s hard to explain. I was present with the song until a moment when I noticed it. Then there was a flood of excitement and confusion whether the bird had been singing all along, or even yesterday. But clearly now later as I write, the bird has just first arrived. And, as I walk around the trails near the house with the dog this song both stops and starts —as the bird does not sing constantly— and the song also comes in and out of consciousness -- especially returning up the stairs, projecting my thoughts forward into the day and room ahead, the voice  comes to me again: it is here in my presence but I hear it only now. To hear without listening. To listen without hearing. To hear with the side of the ear.  zphx ~April 16, 2022 7AM

I am a body

connected to all bodies

awake in the world.

See   May 10, 1853 ("All at once a strain that sounds like old times and recalls a hundred associations. Not at once do I remember that a year has elapsed since I heard it, and then the idea of the bobolink is formed in my mind.”);May 23, 1841 ("All nature is a new impression every instant"); April 5, 1860 ("Thus gradually and moderately the year begins. It creeps into the ears so gradually that most do not observe it, and so our ears are gradually accustomed to the sound, and perchance we do not perceive it when at length it has become very much louder and more general."); April 15, 1859 ("[W]hether he is conscious of it or not, that the world is beautiful and life a fair enterprise to engage in . . . If you yield for a moment to the impressions of sense, you hear some bird giving expression to its happiness in a pleasant strain. We are provided with singing birds and with ears to hear them "); April 30, 1856 ("I was trying to get the exact course of a wall thickly beset with shrub oaks and birches, making an opening through them with axe and knife, while the hillside seemed to quiver or pulsate with the sudden melody. Again, it is with the side of the ear that you hear. The music or the beauty belong not to your work itself but some of its accompaniments. You would fain devote yourself to the melody, but you will hear more of it if you devote yourself to your work."); January 12, 1855 ("What a delicious sound! . . .for it speaks to me too. I am part of one great creature with him; if he has voice, I have ears. I can hear when he calls.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A body awake in the world.
I

The Spring Arrival of the Hermit Thrush

Aprill 6. l hear my first hermit thrush sing east of the house while walking the dog in the morning. April 6, 2025. 

April 10. Hear my first hermit thrush midafternoon at the fort. Vreee vreeen; then the song. She is looking at a trillium at the noisy stream and does not hear. April 10, 2021

April 10. I hear the vreeen call at sunset north of the house after a drizzly day, distinctly as a new sound and think hermit -- but no song.  April 10, 2024

April 11. On the way back on the road for the first time this spring  we both hear the hermits' song in the hemlocks  We stop and listen.  Heard the call note last night.

We stop and listen -

the song of the Hermit Thrush

among the hemlocks

April 11, 2024

April 12. The ice is out on Lake Champlain. April 12, 1856.  

April 12. This morning  it comes to me that I am listening to a hermit thrush while walking the dog. April 12, 2023

April 14. Hear my first hermit thrush of the season this morning before dawn on my way to work -- later I learn the ice is out of the Broad lake and it reaches 80° in Burlington. April 14, 2014

April 14. Just at dusk we hear the hermit thrush ( I for the first time) and then later in Eastland its clucking sound. I have to be reminded it is the hermit.  April 14, 2017 

April 15. Open the garage early this morning and hear the hermit thrush after a night of rain. April 15, 2019

April 16. She says that hermit thrush is back. Not singing, but clucking. April 16, 2016

April 16. A quarter moon in the sky follows us back through the old growth trees, coming home after our walk at dusk,  orange sky in the west, to end a perfect day we first hear the hermit thrush. April 16, 2016

April 16. I hear the hermit thrush singing it’s familiar song near the driveway first thing in the morning. April  16, 2022 

April 16.  I first hear the Hermit thrush singing this morning, west of the house. April 16, 2026

April 18.  Was surprised to see a wagtail thrush, the golden-crowned, at the Assabet Spring, which inquisitively followed me along the shore over the snow, hopping quite near. I should say this was the golden-crowned thrush without doubt, though I saw none of the gold, if this and several more which I saw had not kept close to the water. May possibly be the aquaticus. Have a jerk of the forked tail. April 18, 1854.

April 18. Coming back next to the pond. There we stop and listen to the Hermit Thrush. The first clear song. Evoking memories. April 18, 2024 

April 19.  First thrush heard in the morning. April 19, 2015.

April 20. H. Mann brings me the hermit thrush. April 20, 1861

April 21. At Cliffs, I hear at a distance a wood [sic] thrush. It affects us as a part of our unfallen selves.  April 21, 1855

April 21. The hermit thrush loudly sounds it's vreeen note but does not sing. April 21, 2017.

April 21,  At the top of the upper ramp She sees a hermit thrush.  April 21, 2018

April 24. Returning, in the low wood just this side the first Second Division Brook, near the meadow, see a brown bird flit, and behold my hermit thrush, with one companion, flitting silently through the birches. I saw the fox-color on his tail-coverts, as well as the brown streaks on the breast. Both kept up a constant jerking of the tail as they sat on their perches.  April 24, 1856

April 25. Hermit thrush is back! The first day. Perhaps five in one spot. She teaches me how to distinguish its voice from the wood thrush. Aprill 25, 2009 

April 27. What a shy fellow my hermit thrush!  April 27, 1854

May 4.  Several larger thrushes on low limbs and on ground, with a dark eye (not the white around it of the wood thrush) and, I think, the nankeen spot on the secondaries. A hermit thrush?  May  4, 1855 

May 6. And on the way home at dusk the hermit thrush and Woodthrush (ee-oo-LAY) alternate.  May 6, 2017. 

May 7. A wood [sic] thrush which . . . betrayed himself by moving, like a large sparrow with ruffled feathers, and quirking his tail like a pewee,  on a low branch. May 7, 1852 . 

May 12. Hermit thrushes are still singing in the woods in the nearly complete darkness. May 12, 2016 

 

May 29. Dusk. We go out after the rain to find the Lady's slipper.  The woods are dripping wet, the hemlocks' bright new growth just beginning to show.   The hermit thrush sings. Along the cliff edge three Lady's slippers in bloom.  May 29, 2016

.

HDT needed brushing up on his thrushes. See May 7, 1852 ("A wood [sic] thrush which. . .betrayed himself by moving, like a large sparrow with ruffled feathers, and quirking his tail like a pewee, on a low branch.”); May 22, 1852 ("On my way to Plymouth, looked at Audubon in the State-House. The female (and male?) wood thrush spotted the whole length of belly; the hermit thrush not so.”);; April 18, 1854 ("Was surprised to see a wagtail thrush, the golden-crowned, at the Assabet Spring,”); September 29, 1855 ("At Natural History Library saw Dr. Cabot, who says that he has heard either the hermit, or else the olivaceous, thrush sing,—very like a wood thrush, but softer. Is sure that the hermit thrush sometimes breeds hereabouts.”); April 21, 1855 ("At Cliffs, I hear at a distance a wood [sic] thrush. It affects us as a part of our unfallen selves..”); May 4, 1855 ("Several larger thrushes on low limbs and on ground, with a dark eye (not the white around it of the wood thrush) and, I think, the nankeen spot on the secondaries. A hermit thrush?).

 

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