In November, a man will eat his heart, if in any month

November 1. 

November 1, 2019

A warm, mizzling kind of rain for two days past and still. 

Stellaria media in Cheney's garden, as last spring, butter-and-eggs, that small white aster (A. dumosus?), the small white fleabane, hedge-mustard. 

Day before yesterday to the Cliffs in the rain, misty rain. 

As I approached their edge, I saw the woods beneath, Fair Haven Pond, and the hills across the river, — which, owing to the mist, was as far as I could see, and seemed much further in consequence. I saw these between the converging boughs of two white pines a rod or two from me on the edge of the rock; and I thought that there was no frame to a landscape equal to this, — to see, between two near pine boughs, whose lichens are distinct, a distant forest and lake, the one frame, the other picture. 

November 1, 2019

In November, a man will eat his heart, if in any month. 

The birches have almost all lost their leaves. 

On the river this afternoon, the leaves, now crisp and curled, when the wind blows them on to the water become rude boats which float and sail about awhile conspicuously before they go to the bottom, — oaks, walnuts, etc. 

It is remarkable how native man proves himself to the earth, after all, and the completeness of his life in all its appurtenances. His alliances, how wide! He has domesticated not only beasts but fowl, not only hens and geese and ducks and turkeys, but his doves, winging their way to their dovecots over street and village and field, enhance the picturesqueness of his sky, to say nothing of his trained falcons, his beautiful scouts in the upper air. He is lord of the fowl and the brute. His allies are not only on the land, but in the air and water. The dove, the martin, the bluebird, the swallow, and, in some countries, the hawk have attached themselves to his fortunes. The doves that wing their way so near the clouds, they too are man's retainers.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 1, 1852

Stellaria media in Cheney's garden, as last spring, butter-and-eggs, that small white aster (A. dumosus?), the small white fleabane, hedge-mustard. See August 6,1852 ("Stellaria media at R. W. E.'s. Is it the same, then, which I saw in Cheney's garden so early ?"); November 5, 1855 (“I see the shepherd’s-purse, hedge-mustard, and red clover, — November flowers. ”)

To see, between two near pine boughs, whose lichens are distinct, a distant forest and lake, the one frame, the other picture.See November 3, 1857 ("To see a remote landscape between two near rocks! ")

In November, a man will eat his heart, if in any month. See November 13, 1851 ("Such a day as will almost oblige a man to eat his own heart. A day in which you must hold on to life by your teeth."); November 14, 1858 ("I walk on frozen ground two thirds covered with a sugaring of dry snow, and this strong and cutting northwest wind makes the oak leaves rustle dryly enough to set your heart on edge."); November 25, 1857 ("November Eatheart, — is that the name of it?"); November 27, 1853 ("Now a man will eat his heart, if ever, now while the earth is bare, barren and cheerless, and we have the coldness of winter without the variety of ice and snow; but methinks the variety and compensation are in the stars now."); Compare November 20, 1858 ("The glory of November is in its silvery, sparkling lights .")

The birches have almost all lost their leaves. November 1, 1853 ("The white birch seeds begin to fall and leave the core bare."

On the river this afternoon, the leaves, now crisp and curled, ... become rude boats which float and sail about. See note to October 17, 1856  ("Countless leafy skiffs are floating on pools and lakes and rivers and in the swamps and meadows.")