Thursday, March 12, 2020

A Book of the Seasons: MARCH

“The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.”
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852















On this first spring day
hear the fine-drawn phe-be note
of the chickadee.

March 1, 1856








































Two hawks scream like wind
through a crevice in the sky,
that cracked blue saucer.
March 2, 1855 









































Fully blossomed cone,
winged black seeds half fill my hand
like tiny fishes.
March 3, 1855




















A hawk rises and
sails away over the Wood
as in the summer.









































And for the first time
I see the water looking
blue on the meadows.
March 5, 1854











































Slender black birches
with gracefully catkined twigs 
drooping on all sides.
March 6, 1859
















































The first pleasant days
of spring come out like a squirrel
and go in again. 







































See a small flock of
grackles on the willow-row
above railroad bridge.
March 8, 1860













































The face of nature
lit up by reflections in
still, open water.
March 9, 1854









































Misty and mizzling
weather almost April-like –
expect to hear geese.


































Landscape nearly bare
distant mountains white with snow,
song sparrow’s first song.
March 11, 1854












































First open water.
Two ducks on river before
I have launched my boat.
March 12, 1855









































I hear the rapid
tapping of the woodpecker
over the water. 
March 13, 1855









































The wind begins to
play in dark ripples over
the virgin water.
March 14, 1860





























On this mild spring day 
my life partakes of bluebirds
and infinity.









































A flock of red-wings,
how handsome as they go by,
bright scarlet shoulders
March 16, 1860


















































Whistling overhead 
swift propellers of the air
flying with great force.
March 17, 1860






































The flower in spring
expects a winged visitor
knocking at its door.
March 18, 1860
































Sandy-bottomed brook
flowing cold from ice and snow:
fins poised over sand!
March 19, 1854

















The life and joy of
this new ribbon of water
sparkling in the sun.
March 20, 1853
































Thirty ducks asleep
with heads on backs motionless,
ice forms about them.















































Maple twigs gnawed off
in the winter by rabbits,
the sap now flowing.
March 22, 1856 












































Sitting on this rock
we hear the first wood frog’s croak
and begin to dream.
March 23, 1859 






































Freshly cut pine wood
world of light and purity
its life oozing out.
March 24, 1853









































Willows near Mill Brook
surprise me at a distance--
green, yellowish, red!









































Withered tawny grass
now brightly lit by the sun,
fore-glow of the year.
March 26,1860
















































The hazel is out
greeting the spring at this 
cold leafless season.
March 27, 1853


















































Smoky maple swamps
have now got a reddish tinge
from expanding buds.
March 28, 1852















































A gull of pure white
outline simple and wave-like
two curves in the air.
March 29, 1854















































Crossing the threshold
between winter and summer,
shoes instead of boots.
March 30, 1860


















































Distant mountain top
as blue to the memory
as now to the eyes.
March 31, 1853



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A Book of 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

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