A Book of the Seasons: December 6

December 6.

I see boys skating
but know not when the ice froze.
So busy writing.
December 6, 1854

Some plants are now seen
more simply and distinctly
and to advantage.
December 6, 1856

The mist is so thick
even the reflected mist
now veils the hillsides.
December 6, 1859

For we are hunters
pursuing the summer on
our snow-shoes and skates
all winter long.
There is really but
one season in our hearts.
December 6, 1856

The dripping trees and 

wet falling ice will wet you 

like rain in the woods. 

December 6, 1858

Looking at a dripping tree

between you and the sun

you may see here or there

one or another rainbow color

a small brilliant point of light.

December 6, 1858

Bare shrubs are sprinkled 

with buds --  greens and salads for 

the birds and rabbits. 

December 6, 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 © 2009-2019