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
Snow buntings flying
high against a cloudy sky
look like large snowflakes.
Now snowy mountains
have a slight tinge of purple –
resembling the clouds.
December 12, 2013
I wish to ally myself to the powers that rule the universe. December 12, 1851
I have been surveying for twenty or thirty days, living coarsely, - indeed, leading a quite trivial life; and to-night, for the first time, had made a fire in my chamber and endeavored to return to myself. December 12, 1851
I wish to dive into some deep stream of thoughtful and devoted life, which meanders through retired and fertile meadows far from towns. December 12, 1851
I wish to do again, or for once, things quite congenial to my highest inmost and most sacred nature, to lurk in crystalline thought like the trout under verdurous banks, where stray mankind should only see my bubble come to the surface.
I wish to live, ah! as far away as a man can think. December 12, 1851
I wish for leisure and quiet to let my life flow in its proper channels, with its proper currents; when I might not waste the days, might establish daily prayer and thanksgiving in my family; might do my own work and not the work of Concord and Carlisle, -which would yield me better than money..... December 12, 1851
There is a certain Irish woodchopper who, when I come across him at his work in the woods in the winter, never fails to ask me what time it is, as if he were in haste to take his dinner-pail and go home. This is not as it should be. December 12, 1859
Every man, and the woodchopper among the rest, should love his work as much as the poet does his. December 12, 1859
If labor mainly, or to any considerable degree, serves the purpose of a police, to keep men out of mischief, it indicates a rotteneness at the foundation of our community. December 12, 1859
I am thinking by what long discipline and at what cost a man learns to speak simply at last. December 12, 1851
I wish to dive into some deep stream of thoughtful and devoted life, which meanders through retired and fertile meadows far from towns. December 12, 1851
I wish to do again, or for once, things quite congenial to my highest inmost and most sacred nature, to lurk in crystalline thought like the trout under verdurous banks, where stray mankind should only see my bubble come to the surface.
I wish to live, ah! as far away as a man can think. December 12, 1851
I wish for leisure and quiet to let my life flow in its proper channels, with its proper currents; when I might not waste the days, might establish daily prayer and thanksgiving in my family; might do my own work and not the work of Concord and Carlisle, -which would yield me better than money..... December 12, 1851
There is a certain Irish woodchopper who, when I come across him at his work in the woods in the winter, never fails to ask me what time it is, as if he were in haste to take his dinner-pail and go home. This is not as it should be. December 12, 1859
Every man, and the woodchopper among the rest, should love his work as much as the poet does his. December 12, 1859
If labor mainly, or to any considerable degree, serves the purpose of a police, to keep men out of mischief, it indicates a rotteneness at the foundation of our community. December 12, 1859
I am thinking by what long discipline and at what cost a man learns to speak simply at last. December 12, 1851
This morning it is fair again. December 12, 1856
December 12, 2015
As soon as the snow came, I naturally began to observe that portion of the plants that was left above the snow, not only the weeds but the withered leaves, which before had been confounded with the russet earth. December 12, 1856
Saw a violet on the C. Miles road where the bank had been burned in the fall. December 12, 1852
Baeomyces roseus also. December 12, 1852
Tansy still fresh yellow by the Corner Bridge. December 12, 1852
I hear of a cultivated rose blossoming in a garden in Cambridge within a day or two. December 12, 1852
The buds of the aspen are large and show wool in the fall. December 12, 1852
Large oaks in thick woods have not so many leaves on them as in pastures, methinks. December 12, 1856
Saw a violet on the C. Miles road where the bank had been burned in the fall. December 12, 1852
Baeomyces roseus also. December 12, 1852
Tansy still fresh yellow by the Corner Bridge. December 12, 1852
I hear of a cultivated rose blossoming in a garden in Cambridge within a day or two. December 12, 1852
The buds of the aspen are large and show wool in the fall. December 12, 1852
Large oaks in thick woods have not so many leaves on them as in pastures, methinks. December 12, 1856
Yesterday afternoon, after a misty forenoon, it began to rain by degrees, and in the course of the night more than half the snow has disappeared, revealing the ground here and there; and already the brown weeds and leaves attract me less. December 12, 1856
The river meadows, where they were not cut, are conspicuous brown-straw-colored now,— in the sun almost a true straw-color. November lingers still there. December 12, 1858
The river meadows, where they were not cut, are conspicuous brown-straw-colored now,— in the sun almost a true straw-color. November lingers still there. December 12, 1858
As I talked with the woodchopper who had just cleared the top of Emerson's I got a new view of the mountains over his pile of wood in the foreground. December 12, 1859
*****
December 22, 1859 ("I see in the chestnut woods near Flint's Pond where squirrels have collected the small chestnut burs")
December 24, 1853 ("From the hill beyond I get an arctic view northwest. The mountains are of a cold slate-color.")
From Cliffs I see snow on the mountains.
Last night's rain was snow there, then.
December 12, 1852
They were very grand in their snowy mantle, which had a slight tinge of purple. December 12, 1859
It is now that these mountains, in color as well as form, most resemble the clouds. December 12, 1859
P. M. — To Saw Mill Brook and back by Red Choke-berry Path and Walden. December 12, 1856
P. M. — Up river on ice to Fair Haven Hill. December 12, 1858
P. M. — To Pine Hill and round Walden. December 12, 1859
See a shrike on a dead pine at the Cliffs. December 12, 1858
Seeing a little hole in the side of a dead white birch, about six feet from the ground, I broke it off and found it to be made where a rotten limb had broken off. December 12, 1859
The hole was about an inch over and was of quite irregular and probably natural outline, and, within, the rotten wood had been removed to the depth of two or three inches, and on one side of this cavity, under the hole, was quite a pile of bird-droppings. December 12, 1859
The bottom was an irregular surface of the rotten wood, and there was nothing like a nest. The diameter of the birch was little more than two inches, — if at all. December 12, 1859
Probably it was the roosting-place of a chickadee. December 12, 1859
The pitch pines have not done falling, considerable having fallen on the snow. December 12, 1858
At the wall between Saw Mill Brook Falls and Red Choke-berry Path, I see where a great many chestnut burs have been recently chewed up fine by the squirrels, to come at the nuts. The wall for half a dozen rods and the snow are covered with them. You can see where they have dug the burs out of the snow, and then sat on a rock or the wall and gnawed them in pieces. December 12, 1856
I, too, dig many burs out of the snow with my foot, and though many of these nuts are softened and discolored they have a peculiarly sweet and agreeable taste. December 12, 1856
The snow having come, we see where is the path of the partridge, — his comings and goings from copse to copse, — and now first, as it were, we have the fox for our nightly neighbor, and countless tiny deer mice. December 12, 1859
If in the winter there are fewer men in the fields and woods, — as in the country generally, — you see the tracks of those who had preceded you, and so are more reminded of them than in summer. December 12, 1859
Crossing the fields west of our Texas house, I see an immense flock of snow buntings, I think the largest that I ever saw. There must be a thousand or two at least. December 12, 1858
There is but three inches, at most, of crusted and dry frozen snow, and they are running amid the weeds which rise above it. December 12, 1858
The weeds are chiefly Juncus tenuis (?), but its seeds are apparently gone. I find, however, the glumes of the piper grass scattered about where they have been. December 12, 1858
The flock is at first about equally divided into two parts about twenty rods apart, but birds are incessantly flitting across the interval to join the pioneer flock, until all are united. December 12, 1858
They are very restless, running amid the weeds and continually changing their ground. December 12, 1858
They will suddenly rise again a few seconds after they have alighted, as if alarmed, but after a short wheel settle close by. December 12, 1858
Flying from you, in some positions, you see only or chiefly the black part of their bodies, and then, as they wheel, the white comes into view, contrasted prettily with the former, and in all together at the same time. December 12, 1858
Seen flying higher against a cloudy sky they look like large snowflakes. December 12, 1858
Like a snow-storm they come rushing down from the north. December 12, 1858
When they rise all together their note is like the rattling of nuts in a bag, as if a whole binful were rolled from side to side. December 12, 1858
They also utter from time to time — i. e., individuals do — a clear rippling note, perhaps of alarm, or a call. It is remarkable that their notes above described should resemble the lesser redpolls'! December 12, 1858
Away goes this great wheeling, rambling flock, rolling through the air, and you cannot easily tell where they will settle. December 12, 1858
Suddenly the pioneers (or a part not foremost) will change their course when in full career, and when at length they know it, the rushing flock on the other side will be fetched about as it were with an undulating jerk, as in the boys’ game of snap-the-whip, and those that occupy the place of the snapper are gradually off after their leaders on the new tack. December 12, 1858
The extremities of the wings are black, while the parts next their bodies are black [sic]. They are unusually abundant now. December 12, 1858
As far as I observe, they confine themselves to upland, not alighting in the meadows. December 12, 1858
I should like to know where all those snowbirds will roost to-night, for they will probably roost together. December 12, 1858
Melvin tells me that he saw a thousand feeding a long time in the Great Meadows, — he thinks on the seeds of the wool-grass (!!), — about same time. December 12, 1858
The night comes on early these days, and I soon see the pine tree tops distinctly outlined against the dun (or amber) but cold western sky. December 12, 1859
P. M. — To Saw Mill Brook and back by Red Choke-berry Path and Walden. December 12, 1856
P. M. — Up river on ice to Fair Haven Hill. December 12, 1858
P. M. — To Pine Hill and round Walden. December 12, 1859
See a shrike on a dead pine at the Cliffs. December 12, 1858
Seeing a little hole in the side of a dead white birch, about six feet from the ground, I broke it off and found it to be made where a rotten limb had broken off. December 12, 1859
The hole was about an inch over and was of quite irregular and probably natural outline, and, within, the rotten wood had been removed to the depth of two or three inches, and on one side of this cavity, under the hole, was quite a pile of bird-droppings. December 12, 1859
The bottom was an irregular surface of the rotten wood, and there was nothing like a nest. The diameter of the birch was little more than two inches, — if at all. December 12, 1859
Probably it was the roosting-place of a chickadee. December 12, 1859
The pitch pines have not done falling, considerable having fallen on the snow. December 12, 1858
At the wall between Saw Mill Brook Falls and Red Choke-berry Path, I see where a great many chestnut burs have been recently chewed up fine by the squirrels, to come at the nuts. The wall for half a dozen rods and the snow are covered with them. You can see where they have dug the burs out of the snow, and then sat on a rock or the wall and gnawed them in pieces. December 12, 1856
I, too, dig many burs out of the snow with my foot, and though many of these nuts are softened and discolored they have a peculiarly sweet and agreeable taste. December 12, 1856
The snow having come, we see where is the path of the partridge, — his comings and goings from copse to copse, — and now first, as it were, we have the fox for our nightly neighbor, and countless tiny deer mice. December 12, 1859
If in the winter there are fewer men in the fields and woods, — as in the country generally, — you see the tracks of those who had preceded you, and so are more reminded of them than in summer. December 12, 1859
Crossing the fields west of our Texas house, I see an immense flock of snow buntings, I think the largest that I ever saw. There must be a thousand or two at least. December 12, 1858
There is but three inches, at most, of crusted and dry frozen snow, and they are running amid the weeds which rise above it. December 12, 1858
The weeds are chiefly Juncus tenuis (?), but its seeds are apparently gone. I find, however, the glumes of the piper grass scattered about where they have been. December 12, 1858
The flock is at first about equally divided into two parts about twenty rods apart, but birds are incessantly flitting across the interval to join the pioneer flock, until all are united. December 12, 1858
They are very restless, running amid the weeds and continually changing their ground. December 12, 1858
They will suddenly rise again a few seconds after they have alighted, as if alarmed, but after a short wheel settle close by. December 12, 1858
Flying from you, in some positions, you see only or chiefly the black part of their bodies, and then, as they wheel, the white comes into view, contrasted prettily with the former, and in all together at the same time. December 12, 1858
Seen flying higher against a cloudy sky they look like large snowflakes. December 12, 1858
Like a snow-storm they come rushing down from the north. December 12, 1858
When they rise all together their note is like the rattling of nuts in a bag, as if a whole binful were rolled from side to side. December 12, 1858
They also utter from time to time — i. e., individuals do — a clear rippling note, perhaps of alarm, or a call. It is remarkable that their notes above described should resemble the lesser redpolls'! December 12, 1858
Away goes this great wheeling, rambling flock, rolling through the air, and you cannot easily tell where they will settle. December 12, 1858
Suddenly the pioneers (or a part not foremost) will change their course when in full career, and when at length they know it, the rushing flock on the other side will be fetched about as it were with an undulating jerk, as in the boys’ game of snap-the-whip, and those that occupy the place of the snapper are gradually off after their leaders on the new tack. December 12, 1858
The extremities of the wings are black, while the parts next their bodies are black [sic]. They are unusually abundant now. December 12, 1858
As far as I observe, they confine themselves to upland, not alighting in the meadows. December 12, 1858
I should like to know where all those snowbirds will roost to-night, for they will probably roost together. December 12, 1858
Melvin tells me that he saw a thousand feeding a long time in the Great Meadows, — he thinks on the seeds of the wool-grass (!!), — about same time. December 12, 1858
The night comes on early these days, and I soon see the pine tree tops distinctly outlined against the dun (or amber) but cold western sky. December 12, 1859
I wish to ally
myself to the powers that
rule the universe.
December 12, 1851
December 12, 2023
*****
A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Snow Bunting
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Western Sky
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Northern Shrike
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge
Walden, An artist in the city of Kouroo ("In an imperfect work time is an ingredient, but into a perfect work time does not enter. ")
*****
December 12, 2021
February 27. 1852 ("The buds of the aspen show a part of their down or silky catkins.");
March 4, 1860 ("Aspen down a quarter of an inch out.")
April 3, 1859 ("We need a popular name for the baeomyces. C. suggests "pink mould" Perhaps "pink shot" or "eggs" would do.")
April 8, 1854 ("A day or two surveying is equal to a journey");
April 12, 1854 ("I observe that it is when I have been intently, and it may be laboriously, at work, and am somewhat listless or abandoned after it, reposing, that the muse visits me, and I see or hear beauty. It is from out the shadow of my toil that I look into the light.")
April 30, 1856 ("You would fain devote yourself to the melody, but you will hear more of it if you devote yourself to your work.”)
June 26, 1853 ("the northwest mountains are too . . . firmly defined to be mistaken for clouds.")
September 22, 1854 (“[A]s the sun is preparing to dip below the horizon, the thin haze in the atmosphere north and south along the west horizon reflects a purple tinge and bathes the mountains with the same, like a bloom on fruits. ”)
September 24, 1851 ("The empurpled hills! Methinks I have only noticed this in cooler weather.")
September 22, 1854 (“[A]s the sun is preparing to dip below the horizon, the thin haze in the atmosphere north and south along the west horizon reflects a purple tinge and bathes the mountains with the same, like a bloom on fruits. ”)
September 24, 1851 ("The empurpled hills! Methinks I have only noticed this in cooler weather.")
October 13, 1852 ("The mountains are more distinct from the rest of the earth and slightly purple.")
October 20, 1852 (“Picking chestnuts on Pine Hill. . . . I see the mountains in sunshine, all the more attractive from the cold I feel here, with a tinge of purple on them”)
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!")
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!")
October 24, 1857 (“I get a couple of quarts of chestnuts by patiently brushing the thick beds of leaves aside with my hand in successive concentric circles till I reach the trunk . . .It is best to reduce it to a system.”)
November 4, 1857 ("The mountains north . . . stand out grand and distinct, a decided purple.").;
November 4, 1857 ("The mountains north . . . stand out grand and distinct, a decided purple.").;
November 4, 1854 (“Saw a shrike in an apple tree, with apparently a worm in its mouth. ”)
November 7, 1858 ("Going up the lane beyond Farmer’s, I was surprised to see fly up from the white, stony road, two snow buntings, which alighted again close by, one on a large rock, the other on the stony ground. They had pale-brown or tawny touches on the white breast, on each side of the head, and on the top of the head, in the last place with some darker color. Had light-yellowish bills. They sat quite motionless within two rods, and allowed me to approach within a rod, as if conscious that the white rocks, etc., concealed them. It seemed as if they were attracted to surfaces of the same color with themselves, — white and black (or quite dark) and tawny. One squatted flat, if not both. Their soft rippling notes as they went off reminded me [of] the northeast snow-storms to which ere long they are to be an accompaniment.")
November 9, 1850 ("I found many fresh violets (Viola pedata) to-day (November 9th) in the woods.”)
November 12, 1853 ("Tansy is very fresh still in some places")
November 13, 1851 ("The mountains are of an uncommonly dark blue to-day. . . . I see snow on the Peterboro hills, reflecting the sun. It is pleasant thus to look from afar into winter.")November 14, 1852 ("Still yarrow, tall buttercup, and tansy.")
November 16, 1850 (Violets, dandelions, and some other flowers blossom again, and mulleins and in numerable other plants begin again to spring and are only checked by the increasing cold. There is a slight uncertainty whether there will be any winter this year.")
November 18, 1852 ("Yarrow and tansy still. These are cold, gray days.");=
November 18, 1855 ("Tansy still shows its yellow disks, but yarrow is particularly fresh and perfect, cold and chaste, with its pretty little dry-looking rounded white petals and green leaves.")
November 18 1851 ("The chopper who works in the woods all day is more open in some respects to the impressions they are fitted to make than the naturalist who goes to see them. . . . The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work.")
November 18, 1855 ("Now first mark the stubble and numerous withered weeds rising above the snow. They have suddenly acquired a new character.")
November 20, 1851("Hard and steady and engrossing labor with the hands, especially out of doors, is invaluable to the literary man")
November 23, 1852 ("Among the flowers which may be put down as lasting thus far, as I remember, in the order of their hardiness: yarrow, tansy (these very fresh and common) . . . and perhaps tall buttercup, etc.")
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 29, 1858 ("I see a living shrike caught to-day in the barn of the Middlesex House.”)
November 29, 1859 ("Saw quite a flock of snow buntings not yet very white. They rose from the midst of a stubble-field unexpectedly. The moment they settled after wheeling around, they were perfectly concealed, though quite near, and I could only hear their rippling note from the earth from time to time.")
November 30, 1858 (“The short afternoons are come. . . . We see purple clouds in the east horizon.")
December 8, 1854 ("Why do the mountains never look so fair as from my native fields?")
December 9, 1852 ("The chestnuts are almost as plenty as ever, both in the fallen burs and out of them.")
December 9, 1852 ("A man tells me he saw a violet to-day.")
December 9, 1856 ("The worker who would accomplish much these short days must shear a dusky slice off both ends of the night”)
December 10, 1856 (“How short the afternoons! I hardly get out a couple of miles before the sun is setting”)
December 10, 1856 (“How short the afternoons! I hardly get out a couple of miles before the sun is setting”)
December 10, 1854 ("See a large flock of snow buntings (quite white against woods, at any rate), though it is quite warm. ")
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 13, 1851 ("This varied employment, to which my necessities compel me, serves instead of foreign travel and the lapse of time.")
December 14. 1851 ("The boys have been skating for a week, but . . .I have hardly realized that there was ice, though I have walked over it about this business.")
December 18, 1853 ("The western hills, these bordering it, seen through the clear, cold air, have a hard, distinct edge against the sunset sky. ")
December 18, 1859 ("I see three shrikes in different places to-day")
December 23, 1851 ("I see that there is to be a fine, clear sunset, and make myself a seat in the snow on the Cliff to witness it.")
December 23, 1858 ("See a shrike on the top of an oak.”)December 24, 1853 ("From the hill beyond I get an arctic view northwest. The mountains are of a cold slate-color.")
December 24, 1858 ("Another shrike this afternoon, — the fourth this winter!")
December 24, 1851 ("Saw a flock of snowbirds on the Walden road. I see them so commonly when it is beginning to snow that I am inclined to regard them as a sign of a snow-storm. The snow bunting (Emberiza nivalis) methinks it is, so white and arctic, not the slate-colored..")
December 25, 1851 ("The morning and evening are one day. ")
December 25, 1858 ("How full of soft, pure light the western sky now, after sunset! I love to see the outlines of the pines against it. . . .. In a pensive mood I enjoy the complexion of the winter sky at this hour.")
December 27, 1853 ("It is a true winter sunset, almost cloudless, clear, cold indigo-y along the horizon.")
December 28, 1852 ("Keep the time, observe the hours of the universe, not of the cars. What are threescore years and ten hurriedly and coarsely lived to moments of divine leisure in which your life is coincident with the life of the universe?")December 29, 1855 (“Just before reaching the Cut I see a shrike flying low beneath the level of the railroad, which rises and alights on the topmost twig of an elm within four or five rods. All ash or bluish-slate above down to middle of wings; dirty-white breast, and a broad black mark through eyes on side of head; primaries(?) black, and some white appears when it flies. Most distinctive its small hooked bill (upper mandible).It makes no sound, but flits to the top of an oak further off. Probably a male.”)
December 31, 1852 ("I was this afternoon gathering chestnuts at Saw Mill Brook. I have within a few weeks spent some hours thus")
December 31, 1852 ("I was this afternoon gathering chestnuts at Saw Mill Brook. I have within a few weeks spent some hours thus")
January 2, 1856") ("They have come with this deeper snow and colder weather.")
January 5, 1853 ("A fine rosy sky in the west after sunset; and later an amber-colored horizon, in which a single tree-top showed finely.")
January 8, 1860 ("When returning from Walden at sunset, the only cloud we saw was a small purplish one, exactly conforming to the outline of Wachusett, — which it concealed")January 9, 1859 ("It is worth the while to stand here at this hour and look into the soft western sky, over the pines whose outlines are so rich and distinct against the clear sky.")
January 11, 1852 ("We cannot live too leisurely. Let me not live as if time was short. Catch the pace of the seasons; have leisure to attend to every phenomenon of nature, and to entertain every thought that comes.")
January 11, 1852 ("We cannot live too leisurely. Let me not live as if time was short. Catch the pace of the seasons; have leisure to attend to every phenomenon of nature, and to entertain every thought that comes.")
February 3, 1856 (“See near the Island a shrike glide by, cold and blustering as it was, with a remarkably even and steady sail or gliding motion like a hawk, eight or ten feet above the ground, and alight in a tree”)
February 5, 1859 ("I see another butcher-bird on the top of a young tree by the pond.")
February 6, 1856 ("The down is just peeping out from some of the aspen buds. ")
February 21, 1855 (“There can be no more arctic scene than these mountains in the edge of the horizon completely crusted over with snow, with the sun shining on them.”)
December 12, 2015
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.
December 11 <<<<<<<< December 12 >>>>>>>> December 13
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December 12
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 © 2009-2023
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