A Book of the Seasons: February 15.

February 15.


As long as there is 

a spark of love remaining, 

cherish that alone.

February 15, 1851

The steady rushing
musical sound of rain soaks
into my spirit.
February 15, 1855

The steady, soaking,
rushing, musical sound of rain
is soothing to me.
February 15, 1855

The trees reflected

in invisible puddles –

a walk on the ice

February 15, 1859

I feel the first drop --

gentle spring-like rain begins.

Sounds just like the wind.  

February 15, 1859

We rejoice to be wet --

the smell of wet woollen clothes

exhilarates us. 

February 15, 1859

I feel the first drop –

gentle spring-like rain begins

and we turn about. 

February 15, 1859

Spring-like rain begins --

its pattering on oak leaves

sounds just like the wind. 

Countless dimples in
the puddles then the gentle
spring-like rain begins.
February 15, 1859

*****

Commenced a fine half snow half rain yesterday afternoon. February 15, 1855

The fire needs no replenishing, and we save our fuel. It seems like a distant forerunner of spring. February 15, 1855

Do not take a dozen steps which you could not with tolerable accuracy protract on a chart. I never do otherwise. February 15, 1857

Against Bittern Cliff I feel the first drop strike the right slope of my nose and run down the ravine there. Such is the origin of rivers. Not till half a mile further my doubting companion feels another on his nose also, and I get one in my eye, and soon after I see the countless dimples in the puddles on the ice. So measured and deliberate is Nature always. Then the gentle, spring-like rain begins, and we turn about. The sound of it pattering on the dry oak leaves, where young oaks thickly cover a hillside, is just like that of wind stirring them, when first heard, but is steady and monotonous and so betrayed. We rejoice to be wetted, and the very smell of wet woollen clothes exhilarates us. 

February 15, 1859

All rain and harder in the night, and now quite a thaw, still raining finely, with great dark puddles amid the snow, and the cars detained by wet rails. February 15, 1855

Does not a thaw succeed that blue atmosphere observed on the 11th? — a thaw, as well as warmer nights and hoar frosts? February 15, 1855

All day a steady, warm, imprisoning rain carrying off the snow.  not unmusical on my roof. February 15, 1855

It is a rare time for the student and reader who cannot go abroad in the afternoon, provided he can keep awake, for we are wont to be drowsy as cats in such weather. February 15, 1855

Without, it is not walking but wading. February 15, 1855

It is so long since I have heard it that the steady, soaking, rushing sound of the rain on the shingles is musical. February 15, 1855

It is because I am allied to the elements that the sound of the rain is thus soothing to me. February 15, 1855

The sound soaks into my spirit, as the water into the earth, reminding me of the season when snow and ice will be no more, when the earth will be thawed and drink up the rain as fast as it falls. February 15, 1855

I thought, by the peculiar moaning sound of the wind about the dining-room at noon, that we should have a rain-storm. February 15, 1859

I heard only one blast through some crack, but no doubt that betrayed a pluvious breath. February 15, 1859

I am surprised to find how much it has thawed in the street, though there has been no rain, only a south wind. February 15, 1859

There is already water standing over an icy foundation, and the dirt of the street is more obvious, the snow having partly melted away from it. February 15, 1859

We walk through almost invisible puddles on the river and meadows, in which we see the trees, etc., reflected. February 15, 1859

About 30° at 2 P. M. February 15, 1860

A little thunder and lightning late in the afternoon. I see two flashes and hear two claps. February 15, 1861

Against the thickening air, trees are more and more distinct.  February 15, 1859

• The apple trees, so moist, are blacker than ever.
• A distant white birch, erect on a hill against the white, misty sky, looks, with its fine twigs, so distinct and black, like a millipede a crawling up to heaven. 
• The white oak leaves against the darker green of pines, now moist, are far more reddish. 

 February 15, 1859

*****

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, February Belongs to Spring

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  Signs of Spring

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Nature

*****

February 15, 2022

. 

February 16, 1855 ("The drooping oak leaves show more red amid the pines this wet day, - agreeably so, — and I feel as if I stood a little nearer to the heart of nature")

February 14. February 15. February 16

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