Sunday.
The coldest day yet, clear with considerable wind, after the first cloudless morning for a week or two.
Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear.
I see a lizard on the bottom under the ice. No doubt I have sometimes mistaken them for tadpoles.
(Flint's Pond only skimmed a little at the shore, like the river.)
The ice of Goose Pond already has a dusty look. It shows the crystals distinctly.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, December 4, 1853
Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear. See December 2, 1857 ("Measuring Little Goose Pond, I observed two painted tortoises moving about under the thin transparent ice. . . .”); December 13, 1857 ("This and the like ponds are just covered with virgin ice just thick enough to bear,. . . I see those same two tortoises (of Dec. 2d), moving about in the same place under the ice, which I can not crack with my feet.”)
Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear. See December 2, 1857 ("Measuring Little Goose Pond, I observed two painted tortoises moving about under the thin transparent ice. . . .”); December 13, 1857 ("This and the like ponds are just covered with virgin ice just thick enough to bear,. . . I see those same two tortoises (of Dec. 2d), moving about in the same place under the ice, which I can not crack with my feet.”)
December 4. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December 4; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I love you like I love the sky
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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