A Book of the Seasons: August 30

August 30.

Each humblest flower
marks some phase of human life
as the globe goes round.

When the flower’s fall
is symbol of my own change
the flower appears.
August 30, 1851

So many asters,
such bewildering beauty
and variety!
August 30, 1853

Clearness of the air
makes it delicious to gaze
any direction.
August 30, 1854

Sarothra in prime 

has the fragrance of lemon -- 

stinging, like a bee. 

August 30, 1856

Sarothra bruised 

has the fragrance of lemon --  

stinging, like a bee. 

August 30, 1856

It is vain to dream
of a wildness distant from
ourselves. There is none.
August 30, 1856

A place so wild that

huckleberries grew hairy 

and  inedible. 

August 30, 1856

The rocks and trees are

personalities to me.

We reverence the stones.

August 30, 1856

Butterflies or bees

upon almost every one,

now that flowers rare.

August 30, 1859

August 30, 2013

The sarothra is now apparently in prime on the Great Fields, and comes near being open now, at 3 p. m. Bruised, it has the fragrance of sorrel and lemon, rather pungent or stinging, like a bee. August 30, 1856

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 © 2009-2017