A severe frost this
morning puts us one remove
further from summer.
As I come home the
sunset sky is white and cold
and mountains distinct.
October 17, 1857
A dipper dives while
I look and I do not see
it come up anywhere.
Within days frost turns
flowers to woolly heads, — their
November aspect.
Fuzzy woolly heads
now reign along all hedge rows
and many broad fields.
The cinnamon fern
wool now adheres to my clothes
as I go through them.
October 17, 1857
Mountains distinct and,
as I come home, the sunset
sky is white and cold.
October 17, 1857
As I come home the
sunset sky is white and cold
mountains more distinct.
October 17, 1857
reflections pure and
distinct now the season of
the fall of the leaf.
October 17, 1858
Reflections are more
distinct at this season of
the fall of the leaf.
October 17, 1858
More light is let in
to the water in this the
twilight of the year.
October 17, 1858
To sit in the rain
under an apple tree trunk
studying the bark.
October 17, 2014
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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