A Book of the Seasons: December 5.

December 5.

I love best to have 

each thing in its season and

not at other times.

 December 5, 1856

Now for the short days.
Sun behind a low cloud and
the world is darkened.
December 5, 1853


Many winter birds
have a sharp note like tinkling
glass or icicles.
December 5, 1853

Perfectly cloudless
pale or dull blue winter sky –
a white moon half full.
December 5, 1856

 A half full white moon

in a pale blue and cloudless

simple winter sky.

December 5, 1856

To be born into
the most estimable place
in the nick of time.
December 5, 1856



Stiffened ice-coated
weeds and grass on the causeway
recall past winters.
December 5, 1858


The yellowish bark
of willows on the causeway
gleams warmly through ice.
December 5, 1858

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 © 2009-2020