A driving snow-storm

January 19.

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. I did not have to make a hole in it, but 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. 

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. Almost all have more or less crimson; a few are very splendid, with their particularly bright crimson breasts. The white on the edge of their wing-coverts is very conspicuous.

 P. M. — The damp snow still drives from the northwest nearly horizontally over the fields. 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, and the aspect of the road and trees and houses is very wintry.

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. 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.  

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, January 19, 1855

I never saw the blue in snow so bright as this damp, dark, stormy morning . . . suggesting that in darkest storms we may still have the hue of heaven in us. Compare January 5, 1854  ("There is also some blueness now in the snow, the heavens being now (toward night) overcast. The blueness is more distinct after sunset"); See January 9, 1852 ("Apparently the snow absorbs the other rays and reflects the blue."); January 14, 1852 ("There is no blueness in the ruts and crevices in the snow to-day. What kind of atmosphere does this require? . . . It is one of the most interesting phenomena of the winter."); January 18, 1852  ("Perhaps the snow in the air, as well as on the ground, takes up the white rays and reflects the blue.”);  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 26, 1852 ("To-day I see . . . a slight blueness in the chinks, it being cloudy and melting.”)

At noon it is still a driving snow-storm, and a little flock of redpolls is busily picking the seeds of the pigweed in the garden. See February 10, 1855 ("It is worth the while to let some pigweed grow in your garden, if only to attract these winter visitors. "); December 11, 1855 ("The snow will be three feet deep, the ice will be two feet thick, and last night, perchance, the mercury sank to thirty degrees below zero. . . .. But under the edge of yonder birch wood will be a little flock of crimson-breasted lesser redpolls, busily feeding on the seeds of the birch and shaking down the powdery snow!. . . I am struck by the perfect confidence and success of nature. There is no question about the existence of these delicate creatures, their adaptedness to their circumstances.") See also  A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lesser Redpoll

The trees are everywhere bent into the path like bows tautly strung.  See 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.")

January 19. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  January 19

I never saw blue

in snow so bright as this damp

dark stormy morning.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, A driving snow-storm

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

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