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
A severe frost this
morning puts us one remove
further from summer.
The mountains distinct –
the sunset sky white and cold
now as I come home.
The blue of the river
in the midst of great masses
of red and yellow.
October 17, 1857
Reflections pure and
distinct now the season of
the fall of the leaf.
And painted ducks, too,
often come and sail or float
mid the painted leaves.
October 17, 2014
A severe frost this morning, which puts us one remove further from summer. October 17, 1851
A smart frost this morning. Ground stiffened. Hear of ice in a tub. October 17, 1859
At this season of the year, when the evenings grow cool and lengthen and our winter evenings with their brighter fires may be said to begin. October 17, 1858
It is cooler to-day, and a fire is necessary, which I have not had for about a week. October 17, 1857
A fine Indian-summer afternoon. October 17, 1855
I see all the farmers' old coats spread over the few squashes and pumpkins still left out in a pile. October 17, 1859
A fine Indian-summer afternoon. October 17, 1855
I see all the farmers' old coats spread over the few squashes and pumpkins still left out in a pile. October 17, 1859
Very high wind in the night, shaking the house. . . . Some rain also, and these two bring down the leaves. October 17, 1857
I see one or two large white maples quite bare. October 17, 1858
A great many more ash trees, elms, etc., are bare now. October 17, 1857
There is much gossamer on the button-bushes, now bare of leaves, and on the sere meadow-grass, looking toward the sun, in countless parallel lines, like the ropes which connect the masts of a vessel. October 17, 1855
The young white oak leaves are now generally withered in and on the sides of the hollows there, also the black scrub, while the red and black oaks are still commonly red and so far alive. October 17, 1856
The Salix lucida lower leaves are all fallen (the rest are yellow). So, too, it is the lower leaves of the willows generally which have fallen first. October 17, 1858
Some trees, as small hickories, appear to have dropped their leaves instantaneously, as at a signal, as a soldier grounds arms. October 17, 1856
The ground under such reflects a blaze of light from now crisped yellow leaves. October 17, 1856
Down they have come on all sides, as if touched by fairy fingers. October 17, 1856
Boys are raking leaves in the street, if only for the pleasure of dealing with such clean, crisp substances. October 17, 1856
The Lycopodium lucidulum looks suddenly greener amid the withered leaves. October 17, 1857
The swamp floor is covered with red maple leaves, many yellow with bright-scarlet spots or streaks. October 17, 1857
Small brooks are almost concealed by them. October 17, 1857
Countless leafy skiffs are floating on pools and lakes and rivers and in the swamps and meadows, often concealing the water quite from foot and eye. October 17, 1856
Each leaf, still crisply curled up on its edges, makes as yet a tight boat like the Indian's hide one, October 17, 1856
There are many crisped but colored leaves resting on the smooth surface of the Assabet, . . .These leaves are chiefly of the red maple, with some white maple, October 17, 1858
The waves made by my boat cause them to rustle, and both by sounds and sights I am reminded that I am in the very midst of the fall. October 17, 1858
I see behind (or rather in front of) me as I row home a little dipper appear in mid-river, as if I had passed right over him. It dives while I look, and I do not see it come up anywhere. October 17, 1855
And painted ducks, too, often come and sail or float amid the painted leaves. October 17, 1858
I hear that ten geese went over New Bedford some days ago. October 17, 1859
It would be too late to look for bees now at Wyman's; the flowers are too far gone. October 17, 1856
Frost has now within three or four days turned almost all flowers to woolly heads, — their November aspect. October 17, 1856
Fuzzy, woolly heads now reign along all hedge rows and over many broad fields. October 17, 1856
The cinnamon ferns surrounding the swamp have just lost their leafets, except the terminal ones. They have acquired their November aspect, and the wool now adheres to my clothes as I go through them. October 17, 1857
The dicksonia ferns are killed sere and brown where exposed, but in woods are still pretty green even, only some faded white. They grow in patches. October 17, 1857
Many fringed gentians quite fresh yet, though most are faded and withered. October 17, 1856
I suspect that their very early and sudden fading and withering has nothing, or little, to do with frost after all, for why should so many fresh ones succeed still? October 17, 1856
I see the roots of the great yellow lily lying on the mud where they have made a ditch in John Hosmer’s meadow for the sake of the mud, gray-colored when old and dry. October 17, 1855
Notice some of the fungus called spunk, very large, on the large white oak in Love Lane, . . It is now green and moist, of a yellowish color, October 17, 1856
I heard a smart tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, see four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaintance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and four feet of me. . . . they had followed me along the hedge October 17, 1856
They day-day 'd and lisp their faint notes alternately, and then, as if to make me think they had some other errand than to peer at me, they peck the dead twigs with their bills — the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows. October 17, 1856
Saw a small hawk come flying over the Assabet, which at first I mistook for a dove, though it was smaller. It was blunt or round-shouldered like a dove. October 17, 1858
The young white oak leaves are now generally withered in and on the sides of the hollows there, also the black scrub, while the red and black oaks are still commonly red and so far alive. October 17, 1856
The Salix lucida lower leaves are all fallen (the rest are yellow). So, too, it is the lower leaves of the willows generally which have fallen first. October 17, 1858
Some trees, as small hickories, appear to have dropped their leaves instantaneously, as at a signal, as a soldier grounds arms. October 17, 1856
The ground under such reflects a blaze of light from now crisped yellow leaves. October 17, 1856
Down they have come on all sides, as if touched by fairy fingers. October 17, 1856
Boys are raking leaves in the street, if only for the pleasure of dealing with such clean, crisp substances. October 17, 1856
The Lycopodium lucidulum looks suddenly greener amid the withered leaves. October 17, 1857
The swamp floor is covered with red maple leaves, many yellow with bright-scarlet spots or streaks. October 17, 1857
Small brooks are almost concealed by them. October 17, 1857
Countless leafy skiffs are floating on pools and lakes and rivers and in the swamps and meadows, often concealing the water quite from foot and eye. October 17, 1856
Each leaf, still crisply curled up on its edges, makes as yet a tight boat like the Indian's hide one, October 17, 1856
There are many crisped but colored leaves resting on the smooth surface of the Assabet, . . .These leaves are chiefly of the red maple, with some white maple, October 17, 1858
The waves made by my boat cause them to rustle, and both by sounds and sights I am reminded that I am in the very midst of the fall. October 17, 1858
I see behind (or rather in front of) me as I row home a little dipper appear in mid-river, as if I had passed right over him. It dives while I look, and I do not see it come up anywhere. October 17, 1855
And painted ducks, too, often come and sail or float amid the painted leaves. October 17, 1858
I hear that ten geese went over New Bedford some days ago. October 17, 1859
It would be too late to look for bees now at Wyman's; the flowers are too far gone. October 17, 1856
Frost has now within three or four days turned almost all flowers to woolly heads, — their November aspect. October 17, 1856
Fuzzy, woolly heads now reign along all hedge rows and over many broad fields. October 17, 1856
The cinnamon ferns surrounding the swamp have just lost their leafets, except the terminal ones. They have acquired their November aspect, and the wool now adheres to my clothes as I go through them. October 17, 1857
The dicksonia ferns are killed sere and brown where exposed, but in woods are still pretty green even, only some faded white. They grow in patches. October 17, 1857
Many fringed gentians quite fresh yet, though most are faded and withered. October 17, 1856
I suspect that their very early and sudden fading and withering has nothing, or little, to do with frost after all, for why should so many fresh ones succeed still? October 17, 1856
I see the roots of the great yellow lily lying on the mud where they have made a ditch in John Hosmer’s meadow for the sake of the mud, gray-colored when old and dry. October 17, 1855
Notice some of the fungus called spunk, very large, on the large white oak in Love Lane, . . It is now green and moist, of a yellowish color, October 17, 1856
I heard a smart tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, see four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaintance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and four feet of me. . . . they had followed me along the hedge October 17, 1856
They day-day 'd and lisp their faint notes alternately, and then, as if to make me think they had some other errand than to peer at me, they peck the dead twigs with their bills — the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows. October 17, 1856
Saw a small hawk come flying over the Assabet, which at first I mistook for a dove, though it was smaller. It was blunt or round-shouldered like a dove. October 17, 1858
I stop a while at Cheney's shore to hear an incessant musical twittering from a large flock of young goldfinches which have dull-yellow and drab and black plumage, on maples, etc., while the leaves are falling. Young birds can hardly restrain themselves, and if they did not leave us, might perchance burst forth into song in the later Indian summer days. October 17, 1857
It is surprising, however, that so few habitually intoxicate themselves with music, so many with alcohol. October 17, 1857
It is remarkable that our institutions can stand before music, it is so revolutionary. October 17, 1857
It is remarkable that men too must dress in bright colors and march to music once in the year. Nature, too, assumes her bright hues now. October 17, 1857
Glossy-brown white oak acorns strew the ground thickly, many of them sprouted. October 17, 1857
I observe to-day a great many pitch pine plumes cut off by squirrels and strewn under the trees, as I did yesterday. October 17, 1860
The arbor-vitae sheds seeds; how long? October 17, 1859
Cattle are seen these days turned into the river meadows and straying far and wide. October 17, 1858
I go down the path through Charles Bartlett's land. October 17, 1856
To Clintonia Swamp. October 17, 1857
To Gowing's Swamp. October 17, 1859
The water standing over the road at Moore's Swamp, I see the sand spotted black with many thousands of little snails with a shell, and two feelers out. October 17, 1859
I look for Vaccinium Oxycoccus in the swamp. . . .The higher patches of sphagnum are changed to a dark purple, which shows a crude green where you crack it by your weight. The lower parts are yet yellowish-green merely. October 17, 1859
There is only enough of these berries for sauce to a botanist's Thanksgiving dinner. October 17, 1859
What I put into my pocket, whether berry or apple, generally has to keep company with an arrowhead or two. I hear the latter chinking against a key as I walk. October 17, 1859
The rain drives me from my berrying and we take shelter under a tree. October 17, 1859
It is worth the while to sit under the lee of an apple tree trunk in the rain, if only to study the bark and its inhabitants. October 17, 1859
I do not disturb the father-long-legs which to avoid the storm has merely got round to the lee side. October 17, 1859
To sit in the rain
under an apple tree trunk
studying the bark.
There is no brighter and purer scarlet (often running into crimson) and no softer and clearer yellow than theirs now, though the greater part have quite lost their leaves. October 17, 1858
The fires I thought dulled, if not put out, a week ago seem to have burst forth again. October 17, 1858
This accounts for those red maples which were seen to be green while all around them were scarlet. They but bided their time. They were not so easily affected. October 17, 1858
I distinguish one large red oak — the most advanced one — from black ones, by its red brown, though some others are yellow-brown and greenish. October 17, 1858
The large red oaks are about in their prime. Some are a handsome light scarlet, with yellow and green. October 17, 1858
The Cornus sericea is a very dark crimson, though it has lost some leaves. October 17, 1858
The mountains are more distinct in the horizon, and as I come home the sunset sky is white and cold. October 17, 1857
Methinks the reflections are never purer and more distinct than now at the season of the fall of the leaf, just before the cool twilight has come, when the air has a finer grain. October 17, 1858
Just as our mental reflections are more distinct at this season of the year, when the evenings grow cool and lengthen. October 17, 1858
One reason why I associate perfect reflections from still water with this and a later season may be that now, by the fall of the leaves, so much more light is let in to the water. The river reflects more light, therefore, in this twilight of the year, as it were an afterglow. October 17, 1858
What a new beauty the blue of the river acquires, seen at a distance in the midst of the various-tinted woods, great masses of red and yellow, etc.! It appears as color. October 17, 1857
October 17, 2016
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, October Moods
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reflections
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cinnamon Fern
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: The Fringed Gentian
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Hickory
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Young Birds
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Horizon
*****
October 17, 2021
August 19, 1853 ("As toward the evening of the day the lakes and streams are smooth, so in the fall, the evening of the year, the waters are smoothed more perfectly than at any other season. The day is an epitome of the year.")
August 31, 1852 ("The evening of the year is colored like the sunset.")
August 31, 1852 ("The wind is gone down; the water is smooth; a serene evening is approaching; the clouds are dispersing. . . .The reflections are the more perfect for the blackness of the water.")
September 8, 1859 ("I see the black head and neck of a little dipper in mid stream, a few rods before my boat. It disappears, and though I search carefully, I cannot detect it again.")
September 14, 1856 ("To Hubbard's Close. Fringed gentian well out (and some withered or frost-bitten ?), say a week, though there was none to be seen here August 27th. ")
September 21, 1854 ("The gentian is already frost-bitten almost as soon as it is open..") September 29,1854 ("The elm leaves have in some places more than half fallen")
October 1, 1858 ("The harvest of elm leaves is come, or at hand. ")
October 2, 1853 ("The gentian in Hubbard's Close is frost-bitten extensively.");
October 2, 1857 ("The fringed gentian at Hubbard's Close has been out some time, and most of it already withered")
October 2, 1857 ("The chickadees of late have winter ways, flocking after you.")
October 4, 1858 (“The white maples that changed first are about bare. ”)October 6, 1856 ("The reflections of the bright-tinted maples very perfect.")
October 7, 1857 ("Unless you look for reflections, you commonly will not find them.")
October 8, 1857 (“Those white maples that were so early to change in the water have more than half lost their leaves.”)
October 9, 1858 (“Some Cornus sericea looks quite greenish yet.”)
October 18, 1853 ("The red maples have been bare a good while")
October 20, 1856 ("Thus, of late, when the season is declining, many birds have departed, and our thoughts are turned towards winter . . . we hear the jay again more frequently, and the chickadees are more numerous and lively and familiar and utter their phebe note.") October 20, 1852 (“I see the mountains in sunshine, all the more attractive from the cold I feel here, with a tinge of purple on them”)
October 10, 1851 ("The chickadee, sounding all alone, now that birds are getting scarce, reminds me of the winter, in which it almost alone is heard.”)
October 10, 1853 ("Cooler and windy at sunset, and the elm leaves come down again.”)
October 10, 1857 ("Certainly these are .the most brilliant days in the year, ushered in, perhaps, by a frosty morning, as this.")
The most brilliant days
in the year ushered in by
a frosty morning.
October 11, 1859 ("There was a very severe frost this morning")October 11, 1857 ("Another frost last night, although with fog, and this afternoon the maple and other leaves strew the water, and it is almost a leaf harvest.")
October 12, 1852 ("A new carpet of pine leaves is forming in the woods. The forest is laying down her carpet for the winter.")
October 12, 1858 (“The Cornus sericea begins to fall, though some of it is green”)
October 12, 1856 ("Wasps for some time looking about for winter quarters.")
October 12, 1855 ("The leaves fallen last night now lie thick on the water next the shore, concealing it, —fleets of dry boats")
October 12, 1858 ("There are many maple, birch, etc., leaves on the Assabet, in stiller places along the shore, but not yet a leaf harvest")
October 12, 1858 ("There are many maple, birch, etc., leaves on the Assabet, in stiller places along the shore, but not yet a leaf harvest")
October 12, 1859 ("Now for lycopodiums (the dendroideum not yet apparently in bloom), the dendroideum and lucidulum, etc., — how vivid a green ! — lifting their heads above the moist fallen leaves.")
October 12, 1852 (" The elms in the village, losing their leaves, reveal the birds' nests.”)
October 13, 1858 ("The elms are at least half bare.")
October 13, 1852 (" The air is singularly fine-grained; the mountains are more distinct from the rest of the earth and slightly purple.")
October 13, 1860 ("Now, as soon as the frost strips the maples, and their leaves strew the swamp floor and conceal the pools, the note of the chickadee sounds cheerfully winteryish.")
October 13, 1852 (" The air is singularly fine-grained; the mountains are more distinct from the rest of the earth and slightly purple.")
October 13, 1860 ("Now, as soon as the frost strips the maples, and their leaves strew the swamp floor and conceal the pools, the note of the chickadee sounds cheerfully winteryish.")
October 13, 1851 ("The alert and energetic man leads a more intellectual life in winter than in summer")
October 14, 1852 ("Flowers are fast disappearing. Winter may be anticipated.")
October 14, 1852 ("Jays and chickadees are oftener heard in the fall than in summer.")
October 14, 1860 ("The willows have the bleached look of November") October 14, 1860 ("This year, on account of the very severe frosts, the trees change and fall early, or fall before fairly changing.")
October 14, 1858 ("Paddling slowly back, we enjoy at length very perfect reflections in the still water. The blue of the sky, and indeed all tints, are deepened in the reflection.")October 15, 1853 ("Last night the first smart frost that I have witnessed. Ice formed under the pump, and the ground was white long after sunrise.")
October 15, 1856 ("The water is very calm and full of reflections. Large fleets of maple and other leaves are floating on its surface as I go up the Assabet, leaves which apparently came down in a shower with yesterday morning's frost.")
October 15, 1856 ("The water is very calm and full of reflections. Large fleets of maple and other leaves are floating on its surface as I go up the Assabet, leaves which apparently came down in a shower with yesterday morning's frost.")
October 15, 1857 ("Some white maples by the river are nearly bare")
October 15, 1856 (“Banks begin to wear almost a Novemberish aspect. The black willow almost completely bare”)
October 15, 1858 ("Cinnamon ferns in Clintonia Swamp are fast losing their leafets. ")
October 15, 1856 ("The large ferns are now rapidly losing their leaves except the terminal tuft.")
October 15, 1856 (“Banks begin to wear almost a Novemberish aspect. The black willow almost completely bare”)
October 15, 1858 ("Cinnamon ferns in Clintonia Swamp are fast losing their leafets. ")
October 15, 1856 ("The large ferns are now rapidly losing their leaves except the terminal tuft.")
October 15, 1859 ("The ash trees I see to-day are quite bare,");
October 15, 1856 (“A smart frost . . . . Ground stiffened in morning; ice seen.”)
October 15, 1856 (“A smart frost . . . . Ground stiffened in morning; ice seen.”)
October 15, 1856 (“The chickadees . . .resume their winter ways before the winter comes.”)
October 16, 1859 (" The broad, shallow water on each side, bathing the withered grass, looks as if it were ready to put on its veil of ice at any moment. . . . I seem to hear already the creaking, shivering sound of ice there, broken by the undulations my boat makes. So near are we to winter. ")
October 16, 1854 ("The ash and most of the elm trees are bare of leaves; the red maples also")October 18, 1853 ("The red maples have been bare a good while")
October 18, 1852 ("Chickadees and jays are heard from the shore as in winter")
October 18, 1857 ("The fringed gentian closes every night and opens every morning in my pitcher.")
October 18, 1857 ("The fringed gentian closes every night and opens every morning in my pitcher.")
October 19, 1852 ("I found the fringed gentian now some what stale and touched by frost,")
October 19, 1853 ("The leaves have fallen so plentifully that they quite conceal the water along the shore, and rustle pleasantly when the wave which the boat creates strikes them.")
October 19, 1856 (“Both the white and black ash are quite bare, and some of the elms there.”)October 20, 1856 ("Thus, of late, when the season is declining, many birds have departed, and our thoughts are turned towards winter . . . we hear the jay again more frequently, and the chickadees are more numerous and lively and familiar and utter their phebe note.")
October 20, 1858 ("Flocks of this gossamer, like tangled skeins, float gently through the quiet air as high as my head, like white parachutes to unseen balloons.")
October 20, 1856 (“Looking up the side of the hill toward the sun, I see a little gossamer on the sweet-fern, etc.; and, from my boat, little flocks of white gossamer occasionally, three quarters of an inch long, in the air or caught on twigs, as if where a spider had hauled in his line.”)
October 22, 1857 ("Look from the high hill, just before sundown, over the pond. The mountains are a mere cold slate-color. But what a perfect crescent of mountains we have in our northwest horizon! Do we ever give thanks for it?")
October 22, 1853 ("This great fleet of scattered leaf boats, still tight and dry, each one curled up on every side by the sun's skill,")
October 22,1854 ("Pretty hard frosts these nights. Many leaves fell last night, and the Assabet is covered with their fleets”)
October 22, 1857 (“The black willows along the river are about as bare as in November.”)
October 24, 1853 ("Red maples and elms alone very conspicuously bare in our landscape")
October 24, 1853 ("Just after dark, high southerly winds shaking the house.")October 22,1854 ("Pretty hard frosts these nights. Many leaves fell last night, and the Assabet is covered with their fleets”)
October 22, 1857 (“The black willows along the river are about as bare as in November.”)
October 24, 1853 ("Red maples and elms alone very conspicuously bare in our landscape")
October 26, 1854 ("Apple trees are generally bare, as well as bass, ash, elm, maple.”)
October 26, 1854 ("I see considerable gossamer on the causeway and elsewhere.”)
October 27, 1851 ("The cold numbs my fingers. Winter, with its inwardness, is upon us. A man is constrained to sit down, and to think.")
October 27, 1855 ("There are many fringed gentians, now considerably frost-bitten, in what was E. Hosmer’s meadow between his dam and the road.")
October 28, 1858 (" I see yet also some Cornus sericea bushes with leaves turned a clear dark but dull red, rather handsome")October 30, 1853 ("A white frost this morning, lasting late into the day. This has settled the accounts of many plants which lingered still. . . .What with the rains and frosts and winds, the leaves have fairly fallen now. You may say the fall has ended.")
November 1, 1852("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.")
November 2, 1857("It is only a reflecting mind that sees reflections. . . .You must be in an abstract mood to see reflections however distinct. . . . When we are enough abstracted, the opaque earth itself reflects images to us;. . . Such a reflection, this inky, leafy tree, against the white sky, can only be seen at this season.")
November 3, 1853 (" I think it was the 27th October I saw a goldfinch.")
November 4, 1857 ("The mountains north . . . stand out grand and distinct, a decided purple.").
November 11, 1859 ("A flock of goldfinches on the top of a hemlock, — as if after its seeds?")
November 11, 1859 ("The flat variety of Lycopodium dendroideum shed pollen on the 25th of October.")
November 15, 1859 (""About the 23d of October I saw a large flock of goldfinches (judging from their motions and notes) on the tops of the hemlocks up the Assabet, apparently feeding on their seeds, then falling." )
November 17, 1858 ("It would seem that these lycopodiums, at least, which have their habitat on the forest floor and but lately attracted my attention there (since the withered leaves fell around them and revealed them by the contrast of their color and they emerged from obscurity), —it would seem that they at the same time attained to their prime, their flowering season. ")
November 14, 1853 ("October is the month of painted leaves, . . .it is the sunset month of the year, when the earth is painted like the sunset sky. . . .This light fades into the clear, white, leafless twilight of November, and what ever more glowing sunset or Indian summer we have then is the afterglow of the year.”)
November 20, 1857 ("High wind in the night, shaking the house.")
December 7, 1853 ("In the latter part of November and now, before the snow, I am attracted by the numerous small evergreens on the forest floor, now most conspicuous, especially the very beautiful Lycopodium dendroideum, somewhat cylindrical")
December 11, 1855 ("To perceive freshly, with fresh senses, is to be inspired. My body is all sentient. As I go here or there, I am tickled by this or that I come in contact with, as if I touched the wires of a battery. The age of miracles is each moment thus returned. Now it is wild apples, now river reflections,")
December 11, 1855 ("To perceive freshly, with fresh senses, is to be inspired. My body is all sentient. As I go here or there, I am tickled by this or that I come in contact with, as if I touched the wires of a battery. The age of miracles is each moment thus returned. Now it is wild apples, now river reflections,")
October 17, 2021
If you make the least correct
observation of nature this year,
you will have occasion to repeat it
with illustrations the next,
and the season and life itself is prolonged.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, October 17
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 © 2009-2022
https://tinyurl.com/HDT17Oct
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