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
Now is there nothing
but the echo of your steps
over frozen ground.
In this cold weather
your deep inward fires burn
with a clearer flame.
From Fair Haven Hill
the November landscape edged
by blue mountain ridges.
Last night was quite cold
and the ground is white with frost –
Winter approaches.
November 13, 1858
In early twilight
unseen windows twinkling light
in the horizon.
November 13, 2020
The cattle-train came down last night from Vermont with snow nearly a foot thick upon it. . . . Such, some years, may be our first snow. November 13, 1851
A cold and dark afternoon, the sun being behind clouds in the west. November 13, 1851
The landscape is barren of objects, the trees being leafless, and so little light in the sky for variety. 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 13, 1851
Last night was quite cold, and the ground is white with frost. Thus gradually, but steadily, winter approaches. November 13, 1858
Some rain in the night. November 13, 1857
Rain all day. November 13, 1853
It has rained hard the 11th, 12th, and 13th, and the river is at last decidedly rising. November 13, 1854
Even after all this rain I see the streaming lines of gossamer from trees and fences. November 13, 1855
In mid-forenoon, seventy or eighty geese, in three harrows successively smaller, flying southwest—pretty well west—over the house. A completely overcast, occasionally drizzling forenoon. November 13, 1855
A fine clear afternoon after the misty morning and heavy rain of the night. November 13, 1855
It has rained hard the 11th, 12th, and 13th, and the river is at last decidedly rising. November 13, 1854
Even after all this rain I see the streaming lines of gossamer from trees and fences. November 13, 1855
In mid-forenoon, seventy or eighty geese, in three harrows successively smaller, flying southwest—pretty well west—over the house. A completely overcast, occasionally drizzling forenoon. November 13, 1855
A fine clear afternoon after the misty morning and heavy rain of the night. November 13, 1855
A large flock of geese go over just before night. November 13, 1858
From Fair Haven Hill the air is clear and fine-grained, and now it is a perfect russet November landscape . . . edged in the northwest by the blue mountain ridges. November 13, 1855
From Fair Haven Hill the air is clear and fine-grained, and now it is a perfect russet November landscape . . . edged in the northwest by the blue mountain ridges. November 13, 1855
The mountains are of an uncommonly dark blue to-day. November 13, 1851
No Indian summer have we had this November. November 13, 1851
I see snow on the Peterboro hills, reflecting the sun. It is pleasant thus to look from afar into winter. We look at a condition which we have not reached. November 13, 1851
No Indian summer have we had this November. November 13, 1851
Now, on the advent of much colder weather, the last Populus tremuliformis has lost its leaves, the sheltered dogwood is withered, and even the scarlet oak may be considered as extinguished, and the larch looks brown and nearly bare. November 13, 1858
One hickory at least (on the hill) has not lost its leaves yet, i. e., has a good many left. So they are a month falling. November 13, 1858
A white birch (Betula alba) west edge of Trillium Wood, two feet seven inches circumference at three feet. November 13, 1860
Saw a flock of little passenger birds by Walden, busily pecking at the white birch catkins; about the size of a chickadee; distinct white bar on wings; most with dark pencilled breast, some with whitish ; forked tail ; bright chestnut or crimson (?) frontlet; yellowish shoulders or sack. When startled, they went off with a jingling sound somewhat like emptying a bag of coin. Is it the yellow redpoll? November 13, 1852
Frozen ground, ice, and snow have now banished the few remaining skaters . . . crickets, and water-bugs. November 13, 1858
Crickets gone into winter quarters. November 13, 1851
But it is the great dormant earth gone into winter quarters here, the earth letting off steam after the summer’s work is over. November 13, 1858
Now is there nothing, . . .nothing but the echo of your steps over the frozen ground, November 13, 1851
Ah, but is not this a glorious time for your deep inward fires? November 13, 1851
In cold weather fire burns with a clearer flame. November 13, 1851
How speedily the night comes on now! November 13, 1857
In twenty minutes, candles gleam from distant windows, and the walk for this day is ended. November 13, 1857
Now for twinkling light reflected from unseen windows in the horizon in the early twilight. November 13, 1858
Now is there nothing, . . .nothing but the echo of your steps over the frozen ground, November 13, 1851
Ah, but is not this a glorious time for your deep inward fires? November 13, 1851
In cold weather fire burns with a clearer flame. November 13, 1851
How speedily the night comes on now! November 13, 1857
In twenty minutes, candles gleam from distant windows, and the walk for this day is ended. November 13, 1857
Now for twinkling light reflected from unseen windows in the horizon in the early twilight. November 13, 1858
We looked out the window at 9 P. M. and saw the ground for the most part white with the first sugaring, which at first we could hardly tell from a mild moonlight, — only there was no moon. Thus it comes stealthily in the night and changes the whole aspect of the earth. November 13, 1858
November 13, 2016
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Geese in Autumn
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Birds
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow Redpoll ( Palm) Warbler
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Aspens
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Birches in Season
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. The Hickory
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Seen from a Hillside
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November Moonlight
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, November Moods
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Gossamer Days
October 25, 1858 (“The light reflected from the parallel twigs of birches recently bare, etc., like the gleam from gossamer lines. This is another Novemberish phenomenon. Call these November Lights”) October 27, 1858 (“the cool, white twilights of that season which is itself the twilight of the year.”)
October 29, 1858 ("Am surprised to see, by the path to Baker Farm, a very tall and slender large Populus tremuliformis still thickly clothed with leaves which are merely yellowish greén.")
November 1, 1852 ("In November, a man will eat his heart, if in any month.")
November 1, 1851 ("It is a remarkable day for fine gossamer cobwebs")
November 1, 1860 ("Gossamer on the withered grass is shimmering in the fields, and flocks of it are sailing in the air.")
October 29, 1858 ("Am surprised to see, by the path to Baker Farm, a very tall and slender large Populus tremuliformis still thickly clothed with leaves which are merely yellowish greén.")
November 1, 1852 ("In November, a man will eat his heart, if in any month.")
November 1, 1851 ("It is a remarkable day for fine gossamer cobwebs")
November 1, 1860 ("Gossamer on the withered grass is shimmering in the fields, and flocks of it are sailing in the air.")
November 2, 1853("We come home in the autumn twilight. . .clear white light, which penetrates the woods”)
November 2, 1852 ("This afternoon a three-days' rain-storm is drawing to an end");
November 6, 1858 ("This is another rainy day")
November 7, 1855 ("Gossamer on the grass. . . revealed by the dewy mist which has collected on it.”)
November 8 , 1857 ("A warm, cloudy, rain-threatening morning. . . .. a long flock of geese are going over from northeast to southwest")
November 2, 1852 ("This afternoon a three-days' rain-storm is drawing to an end");
November 6, 1858 ("This is another rainy day")
November 7, 1855 ("Gossamer on the grass. . . revealed by the dewy mist which has collected on it.”)
November 8 , 1857 ("A warm, cloudy, rain-threatening morning. . . .. a long flock of geese are going over from northeast to southwest")
November 8, 1853 ("Perchance I heard the last cricket of the season yesterday. They chirp here and there at longer and longer intervals, till the snow quenches their song.")
November 8, 1853 (“Our first snow . . . The children greet it with a shout when they come out at recess.")
November 9, 1858 (“We had a true November sunset . . . a cold, yellow sunlight suddenly illumined the withered grass of the fields around, near and far, eastward. Such a phenomenon as, when it occurs later, I call the afterglow of the year.”)
November 10, 1859 ("Rain; warm")
November 10, 1853 ("There are still a few leaves on the large Populus tremuliformis, but they will be all gone in a day or two. They have turned quite yellow.")
November 10, 1858 ("This a November phenomenon, — the silvery light reflected from a myriad of downy surfaces")
November 10, 1859 ("Rain; warm")
November 10, 1853 ("There are still a few leaves on the large Populus tremuliformis, but they will be all gone in a day or two. They have turned quite yellow.")
November 10, 1858 ("This a November phenomenon, — the silvery light reflected from a myriad of downy surfaces")
November 11, 1858 ("Gossamer reflecting the light is another November phenomenon (as well as October).")
November 11, 1855 ("Frogs are rare and sluggish, as if going into winter quarters. A cricket also sounds rather rare and distinct. ")
November 12, 1853 ("The last cricket, full of cheer and faith, piping to himself, as the last man might.")
November 12, 1853 ("The last cricket, full of cheer and faith, piping to himself, as the last man might.")
November 12, 1859 ("The first sprinkling of snow, which for a short time whitens the ground in spots.”)
November 14, 1855 ("The rain has raised the river an additional foot or more, and it is creeping over the meadows.")
November 14, 1858 ('The principal flight of geese was November 8th, so that the bulk of them preceded this cold turn five days.")
November 14, 1853 ("The clear, white, leafless twilight of November”)
November 14, 1858 ("It is all at once perfect winter. 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 14, 1858 ("It is all at once perfect winter. 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 15, 1858 ("Gossamer, methinks, belongs to the latter part of October and first part of November")
November 17, 1858 (“We are interested at this season by the manifold ways in which the light is reflected to us. . . . The setting sun, too, is reflected from windows more brightly than at any other season. “November Lights" would be a theme for me. ”)
November 17, 1858 (“We are interested at this season by the manifold ways in which the light is reflected to us. . . . The setting sun, too, is reflected from windows more brightly than at any other season. “November Lights" would be a theme for me. ”)
November 17, 1855 ("Just after dark the first snow is falling, after a chilly afternoon with cold gray clouds”)
November 18, 1855 ("About an inch of snow fell last night, but the ground was not at all frozen or prepared for it. A little greener grass and stubble here and there seems to burn its way through it this forenoon.")
November 18, 1854 ("Sixty geese go over the Great Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavoring to form into a harrow, honking all the while.”)
November 18, 1855 ("About an inch of snow fell last night, but the ground was not at all frozen or prepared for it. A little greener grass and stubble here and there seems to burn its way through it this forenoon.")
November 18, 1854 ("Sixty geese go over the Great Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavoring to form into a harrow, honking all the while.”)
November 19, 1853 (“This, too, is a gossamer day,")
November 23, 1852 ("There is something genial even in the first snow, and Nature seems to relent a little of her November harshness.”)\
November 20, 1858 ("The glory of November is in its silvery, sparkling lights”)
November 25, 1857 ("Nature has herself become like the few fruits which she still affords, a very thick-shelled nut with a shrunken meat within.”)
November 20, 1858 ("The glory of November is in its silvery, sparkling lights”)
November 25, 1857 ("Nature has herself become like the few fruits which she still affords, a very thick-shelled nut with a shrunken meat within.”)
November 27, 1853 ("The days are short enough now. The sun is already setting before I have reached the ordinary limit of my walk.")
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.")
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.")
November 28, 1856 ("Ssunlight reflected from the many ascending twigs of bare young chestnuts and birches... remind me of the lines of gossamer at this season, being almost exactly similar to the eye. It is a true November phenomenon.")
November 28, 1859 ("We make a good deal of the early twilights of these November days, they make so large a part of the afternoon.”)
November 30, 1857 ("A still, warm, cloudy, rain-threatening day. The air is full of geese all flying southwest.")
November 30, 1857 (“You first hear a faint honking from one or two in the northeast and think there are but few wandering there, but, looking up, see forty or fifty coming on in a more or less broken harrow, wedging their way southwest. . . . According to my calculation a thousand or fifteen hundred may have gone over Concord to-day. When they fly low and near, they look very black against the sky.”)
Sparkling windows and
vanes of the village now seen
against the mountains.
December 5, 1853 ("Now for the short days and early twilight. . . The sun goes down behind a low cloud, and the world is darkened.")
December 9, 1856 ("The worker who would accomplish much these short days must shear a dusky slice off both ends of the night")
December 11, 1854 ("The day is short; it seems to be composed of two twilights merely; the morning and the evening twilight make the whole day.”)
December 11, 1854 ("The day is short; it seems to be composed of two twilights merely; the morning and the evening twilight make the whole day.”)
January 3, 1854 ("The twilight appears to linger. The day seems suddenly longer.")
January 20, 1852 (“ The days are now sensibly longer,”)
January 20, 1852 (“ The days are now sensibly longer,”)
January 20, 1852 ("To see the sun rise or go down every day would preserve us sane forever, — so to relate ourselves, for our mind's and body's health, to a universal fact.”)
January 23, 1854 ("The increased length of the days is very observable of late.")
January 23, 1854 ("The increased length of the days is very observable of late.")
November 13, 2014
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, November 13
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
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