Snow is a great revealer.

February 16. 

By this time in the winter I do not look for those clear, sparkling mornings and delicate leaf frosts, which, methinks, occur earlier in the winter, as if the air of winter was somewhat tarnished and debauched, — had lost its virgin purity. 

Every judgment and action of a man qualifies every other, i. e. corrects our estimate of every other, as, for instance, a man's idea of immortality who is a member of a church, or his praise of you coupled with his praise of those whom you do not esteem. For in this sense a man is awfully consistent, above his own consciousness. 

All a man's strength and all his weakness go to make up the authority of any particular opinion which he may utter. He is strong or weak with all his strength and weakness combined. 

If he is your friend, you may have to consider that he loves you, but perchance he also loves gingerbread.

It must be the leaves of the Chimaphila umbellate, spotted wintergreen, which Channing left here day before yesterday.

Snows again this morning.

For the last month the weather has been remarkably changeable; hardly three days together alike. That is an era not yet arrived, when the earth, being partially thawed, melts the slight snows which fall on it. 

P. M. — To Walden and Flint's; return by Turnpike. 

That Indian trail on the hillside about Walden is revealed with remarkable distinctness to me standing on the middle of the pond, by the slight snow which had lodged on it forming a clear white line unobscured by weeds and twigs. (For snow is a great revealer not only of tracks made in itself, but even in the earth before it fell.) It is quite distinct in many places where you would not have noticed it before. A light snow will often reveal a faint foot or cart track in a field which was hardly discernible before, for it reprints it, as it were, in clear white type, alto-relievo.

See two large hawks circling over the woods by Walden, hunting, — the first I have seen since December 15th.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 16, 1854

Snows again this morning. See February 16, 1852 ("The surface of the snow which fell last night is coarse like bran, with shining flakes."); February 16, 1856 ("It has been trying to snow for two days. About one inch fell last night, but it clears up at noon, and sun comes out very warm and bright."); February 16, 1860 ("A snow-storm, which began in the night, - and is now three or four inches deep.  . . . this crystalline snow lies up so light and downy that it evidently admits more light than usual, and the surface is more white and glowing for it. It is semitransparent")

By this time in the winter I do not look for those clear, sparkling mornings and delicate leaf frosts, which, methinks, occur earlier in the winter. See  February 16, 1852 ("This afternoon there is a clear, bright air, which, though cold and windy, I love to inhale. The sky is a much fairer and undimmed blue than usual."); See also December 31, 1855 ("It is one of the mornings of creation, and the trees, shrubs, etc., etc., are covered with a fine leaf frost, as if they had their morning robes on, seen against the sun."); February 10, 1852 (“We have none of those peculiar clear, vitreous, crystalline vistas in the western sky before sundown of late. . . .. Perhaps that phenomenon does not belong to this part of the winter.”); February 12, 1855 (“All trees covered this morning with a hoar frost, very handsome looking toward the sun, —the ghosts of trees.”); February 12, 1854 ("To make a perfect winter day like this, you must have a clear, sparkling air, with a sheen from the snow, sufficient cold, little or no wind; and the warmth must come directly from the sun. It must not be a thawing warmth. The tension of nature must not be relaxed."); February 14, 1855 ("There is also another leaf or feather frost on the trees, weeds, and rails. . . .These ghosts of trees are very handsome and fairy-like."); February 17, 1852 ("Perhaps the peculiarity of those western vistas was partly owing to the shortness of the days, when we naturally look to the heavens and make the most of the little light, when we live an arctic life")

As if the air of winter was somewhat tarnished and debauched, — had lost its virgin purity. Compare July 18, 1854 (“The atmosphere now imparts a bluish or glaucous tinge to the distant trees. A certain debauched look. This a crisis in the season.”)

That Indian trail on the hillside about Walden. See December 23, 1850 ("I can discern a faint foot or sled path sooner when the ground is covered with snow than when it is bare")  Also Walden, The Ponds ("I have been surprised to detect encircling the pond, even where a thick wood has just been cut down on the shore, a narrow shelf-like path in the steep hill side, alternately rising and falling, approaching and receding from the water's edge, as old probably as the race of man here, worn by the feet of aboriginal hunters, and still from time to time unwittingly trodden by the present occupants of the land. This is particularly distinct to one standing on the middle of the pond in winter, just after a light snow has fallen, appearing as a clear undulating white line, unobscured by weeds and twigs, and very obvious a quarter of a mile off in many places where in summer it is hardly distinguishable close at hand. The snow reprints it, as it were, in clear white type alto-relievo.")

See two large hawks circling over the woods by Walden, hunting, See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: the Hawks of March; see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The hen-hawk

February 16. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February 16

February 14, 1854   <<<<<<<                                                                   >>>>>>> February 17, 1854

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Snow is a great revealer

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

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