Now is the season
for beautiful berries which
are not food for man.
A season for berries
as beautiful as flowers,
berries far less known.
A beautiful day
decidedly autumnal –
coudless sky, clear air.
As beautiful as
flowers but far less known – the
fruit of the flower.
The narrow brown sheaths
from the base of white pine leaves
now strew the ground
and are washed up
on the edge of puddles
after the rain.
The narrow brown sheaths
from the base of white pine leaves
now strew the ground and
are washed up on the edge of
puddles after the rain.
The narrow brown sheaths
from the base of white pine leaves
now strew the ground and
are washed up
on the edge of puddles
after the rain.
narrow brown sheaths from
white pine leaves wash up on the
edge of puddles after the rain.
narrow brown sheaths
from white pine leaves
wash up on the edge of puddles after the rain.
September 3, 1858
Here is a beautiful, and perhaps first decidedly autumnal, day, -- a, cloudless sky, a clear air, with, maybe, veins of coolness. September 3, 1860
Now is the season for those comparatively rare but beautiful wild
berries which are not food for man. September 3, 1853
Berries which are as beautiful as flowers, but far less known, the fruit of the flower. September 3, 1853
The narrow brown sheaths from the base of white pine leaves now strew the ground and are washed up on the edge of puddles after the rain. September 3, 1858
Even at this season I see some fleets of yellow butterflies in the damp road after the rain, as earlier. September 3, 1854
I will endeavor to separate the tide in my thoughts, or what is due to the influence of the moon, from the current distractions and fluctuations. September 3, 1852
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 © 2009-2019
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