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
December 15, 2018
My love is invulnerable.
Meet me on that ground
and you will find me strong.
December 15, 1841
The bare landscape looks
as if covered with snow on
these bright moonlit nights.
A few clean dry weeds
seen against smooth reflecting
water between ice.
The low grass and weeds
bent down with crystalline drops
now ready to freeze.
The now dark green pines.
The oak leaves and withered weeds
bleached above the snow.
The hushed stillness of
the wood at sundown, aye
all the winter day.
Smooth serenity
and reflections of the pond,
alone free from ice.
Hooting of the owl
with the distant whistle of
a locomotive.
The last strokes of the
woodchopper who presently
bends his steps homeward.
Gilded bar of cloud
conducting my thoughts into
the eternal west.
The horizon glow,
and the hasty walk homeward.
Long winter evening.
And the trees have all
come down to the bank to see
the river go by.
December 15, 1841
December 15, 2023
In the woods there is an inexpressible happiness. December 15, 1841.
The trees have come down to the bank to see the river go by. December 15, 1841
The water which so calmly reflects the fleeting clouds and the primeval trees I have never seen before. December 15, 1841
This old, familiar river is renewed each instant; only the channel is the same. December 15, 1841
This morning it has begun to snow apparently in earnest. December 15, 1855
The air is quite thick and the view confined. December 15, 1855
The first kind of snow-storm, or that of yesterday, which ceased in the night after some three inches had fallen, was that kind that makes handsome drifts behind the walls. December 15, 1859
There are no drifts equal to these behind loosely built stone walls, the wind passing between the stones. December 15, 1859
Slight as this snow was, these drifts now extend back four or five feet and as high as the wall, on the north side of the Corner Bridge road. December 15, 1859
It is quite still, yet some flakes come down from one side and some from another, crossing each other like woof and warp apparently, as they are falling in different eddies and currents of air. December 15, 1855
In the midst of it, I hear and see a few little chickadees prying about the twigs of the locusts in the graveyard. December 15, 1855
They have come into town with the snow. December 15, 1855
They now and then break forth into a short sweet strain, and then seem suddenly to check them selves, as if they had done it before they thought. December 15, 1855
The snow turns to rain, and this afternoon I walk in it down the railroad and through the woods. December 15, 1855
The boys have skated a little within two or three days, but it has not been thick enough to bear a man yet. December 15, 1855
I see on the ice, half a dozen rods from shore, a small brown striped grub, and again a black one five eighths of an inch long. The last has apparently melted quite a cavity in the ice. How came they there? December 15, 1854
How interesting a few clean, dry weeds on the shore a dozen rods off, seen distinctly against the smooth, reflecting water between ice! December 15, 1854
The low grass and weeds, bent down with a myriad little crystalline drops, ready to be frozen perhaps, are very interesting, but wet my feet through very soon. December 15, 1855
I seem to see somewhat more of my own kith and kin in the lichens on the rocks than in any books. December 15, 1841
A steady but gentle, warm rain. December 15, 1855
It still blows hard at 2 p. m., but it is not cold. December 15, 1856
8 p.m.. . .The high northwest wind of this morning, with what of cold we have, has made some of those peculiar rake-toothed icicles on the dead twigs, etc., about the edge of the pond at the east end. December 15, 1856
To produce this phenomenon is required only open water, a high wind, and sufficiently cold weather to freeze the spray. December 15, 1856
I still recall to mind that characteristic winter eve of December 9th; the cold, dry, and wholesome diet my mind and senses necessarily fed on, —
The hooting of the owl! That is a sound which my red predecessors heard here more than a thousand years ago. December 15, 1856
It rings far and wide, occupying the spaces rightfully, — grand, primeval, aboriginal sound. December 15, 1856
Saw a small flock of geese go over. December 15, 1852
Looking from my window these bright moonlight nights, the ground being still bare, the whole landscape — fields, road, and roof — has a wintry aspect, as if covered with snow. It is the frost. December 15, 1853
It does seem as if mine were a peculiarly wild nature, which so yearns toward all wildness. December 15, 1841
One's life, the enterprise he is here upon, should certainly be a grand fact to consider . . . A man should not live without a purpose, and that purpose must surely be a grand one. December 15, 1852
April 29, 1852 (“The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.”)
August 8, 1852 ("When the play - it may be the tragedy of life - is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, ")
August 30, 1856 (“Many of our days should be spent, not in vain expectations and lying on our oars, but in carrying out deliberately and faithfully the hundred little purposes which every man's genius must have suggested to him. Let not your life be wholly without an object, though it be only to ascertain the flavor of a cranberry, for it will not be only the quality of an insignificant berry that you will have tasted, but the flavor of your life to that extent, and it will be such a sauce as no wealth can buy”)
September 8, 1858 ("It is good policy to be stirring about your affairs, for the reward of activity and energy is that if you do not accomplish the object you had professed to yourself, you do accomplish something else.”)
October 18, 1855 (“Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”)
November 12, 1853 ("The meadows . . . look as if covered with frost in the moonlight.")
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.")
November 18, 1857 "Each man's necessary path, though as obscure and apparently uneventful as that of a beetle in the grass, is the way to the deepest joys he is susceptible of.”)
November 18, 1851(".Now at sundown I hear the hooting of an owl, — hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo.. . . It is a sound admirably suited to the swamp and to the twilight woods, suggesting a vast undeveloped nature . . . I rejoice that there are owls. They represent the stark, twilight, unsatisfied thoughts I have. . . This sound faintly suggests the infinite roominess of nature, that there is a world in which owls live.")
December 29, 1841 ("One does not soon learn the trade of life. That one may work out a true life requires more art and delicate skill than any other work.")This old, familiar river is renewed each instant; only the channel is the same. December 15, 1841
This morning it has begun to snow apparently in earnest. December 15, 1855
The air is quite thick and the view confined. December 15, 1855
The first kind of snow-storm, or that of yesterday, which ceased in the night after some three inches had fallen, was that kind that makes handsome drifts behind the walls. December 15, 1859
There are no drifts equal to these behind loosely built stone walls, the wind passing between the stones. December 15, 1859
Slight as this snow was, these drifts now extend back four or five feet and as high as the wall, on the north side of the Corner Bridge road. December 15, 1859
It is quite still, yet some flakes come down from one side and some from another, crossing each other like woof and warp apparently, as they are falling in different eddies and currents of air. December 15, 1855
In the midst of it, I hear and see a few little chickadees prying about the twigs of the locusts in the graveyard. December 15, 1855
They have come into town with the snow. December 15, 1855
They now and then break forth into a short sweet strain, and then seem suddenly to check them selves, as if they had done it before they thought. December 15, 1855
The snow turns to rain, and this afternoon I walk in it down the railroad and through the woods. December 15, 1855
The boys have skated a little within two or three days, but it has not been thick enough to bear a man yet. December 15, 1855
I see on the ice, half a dozen rods from shore, a small brown striped grub, and again a black one five eighths of an inch long. The last has apparently melted quite a cavity in the ice. How came they there? December 15, 1854
How interesting a few clean, dry weeds on the shore a dozen rods off, seen distinctly against the smooth, reflecting water between ice! December 15, 1854
The low grass and weeds, bent down with a myriad little crystalline drops, ready to be frozen perhaps, are very interesting, but wet my feet through very soon. December 15, 1855
I seem to see somewhat more of my own kith and kin in the lichens on the rocks than in any books. December 15, 1841
A steady but gentle, warm rain. December 15, 1855
It still blows hard at 2 p. m., but it is not cold. December 15, 1856
8 p.m.. . .The high northwest wind of this morning, with what of cold we have, has made some of those peculiar rake-toothed icicles on the dead twigs, etc., about the edge of the pond at the east end. December 15, 1856
To produce this phenomenon is required only open water, a high wind, and sufficiently cold weather to freeze the spray. December 15, 1856
I still recall to mind that characteristic winter eve of December 9th; the cold, dry, and wholesome diet my mind and senses necessarily fed on, —
- oak leaves, bleached and withered weeds that rose above the snow,
- the now dark green of the pines, and
- perchance the faint metallic chip of a single tree sparrow;
- the hushed stillness of the wood at sundown, aye, all the winter day;
- the short boreal twilight;
- the smooth serenity and the reflections of the pond, still alone free from ice;
- the melodious hooting of the owl, heard at the same time with
- the yet more distant whistle of a locomotive,. . .
- the last strokes of the woodchopper,who presently bends his steps homeward;
- the gilded bar of cloud across the apparent outlet of the pond,
- conducting my thoughts into the eternal west;
- the deepening horizon glow; and
- the hasty walk homeward to enjoy the long winter evening.
December 15, 1856
December 15, 2023
It rings far and wide, occupying the spaces rightfully, — grand, primeval, aboriginal sound. December 15, 1856
Saw a small flock of geese go over. December 15, 1852
Looking from my window these bright moonlight nights, the ground being still bare, the whole landscape — fields, road, and roof — has a wintry aspect, as if covered with snow. It is the frost. December 15, 1853
It does seem as if mine were a peculiarly wild nature, which so yearns toward all wildness. December 15, 1841
One's life, the enterprise he is here upon, should certainly be a grand fact to consider . . . A man should not live without a purpose, and that purpose must surely be a grand one. December 15, 1852
My love is invulnerable. December 15, 1841
December 15, 2019
*****
December 15, 2023
Li Po (There is bright moonlight so that it seems like frost on the ground")
Walden ("To effect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.”)
Walden ("Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.")
Walden ("To effect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.”)
Walden ("Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.")
December 15, 2023
April 29, 1852 (“The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.”)
August 8, 1852 ("When the play - it may be the tragedy of life - is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, ")
August 30, 1856 (“Many of our days should be spent, not in vain expectations and lying on our oars, but in carrying out deliberately and faithfully the hundred little purposes which every man's genius must have suggested to him. Let not your life be wholly without an object, though it be only to ascertain the flavor of a cranberry, for it will not be only the quality of an insignificant berry that you will have tasted, but the flavor of your life to that extent, and it will be such a sauce as no wealth can buy”)
September 8, 1858 ("It is good policy to be stirring about your affairs, for the reward of activity and energy is that if you do not accomplish the object you had professed to yourself, you do accomplish something else.”)
October 18, 1855 (“Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”)
November 12, 1853 ("The meadows . . . look as if covered with frost in the moonlight.")
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.")
November 18, 1857 "Each man's necessary path, though as obscure and apparently uneventful as that of a beetle in the grass, is the way to the deepest joys he is susceptible of.”)
November 18, 1851(".Now at sundown I hear the hooting of an owl, — hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo.. . . It is a sound admirably suited to the swamp and to the twilight woods, suggesting a vast undeveloped nature . . . I rejoice that there are owls. They represent the stark, twilight, unsatisfied thoughts I have. . . This sound faintly suggests the infinite roominess of nature, that there is a world in which owls live.")
November 28, 1853 ("Boys skating in Cambridgeport, — the first ice to bear.")
December 1, 1857 ("I hear of two more flocks of geese going over to-day.”)
December 6, 1854 ("I see thick ice and boys skating all the way to Providence, but know not when it froze, I have been so busy writing my lecture.")
December 6, 1855 ("10 P. M. — Hear geese going over.”)
December 9, 1856 ("I hear only the strokes of a lingering woodchopper at a distance, and the melodious hooting of an owl, which is as common and marked a sound as the axe or the locomotive whistle."
December 1, 1857 ("I hear of two more flocks of geese going over to-day.”)
December 6, 1854 ("I see thick ice and boys skating all the way to Providence, but know not when it froze, I have been so busy writing my lecture.")
December 6, 1855 ("10 P. M. — Hear geese going over.”)
December 9, 1856 ("I hear only the strokes of a lingering woodchopper at a distance, and the melodious hooting of an owl, which is as common and marked a sound as the axe or the locomotive whistle."
)December 9, 1856 ("The sun is near setting, away beyond Fair Haven. A bewitching stillness reigns through all the woodland and over the snow-clad landscape. Indeed, the winter day in the woods or fields has commonly the stillness of twilight. The pond is perfectly smooth and full of light. . . .Such is a winter eve")
December 10, 1856 ("the apparently full moon has fairly commenced her reign, and I go home by her light.")
December 10, 1856 ("The nights are light on account of the snow, and, there being a moon, there is no distinct interval between the day and night.")
December 11, 1854 (“The day is short; it seems to be composed of two twilights merely.”)
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.")
December 13, 1858 ("And on those fine grass heads which are bent over in the path the fine dew-like drops are frozen separately like a string of beads")
December 13, 1855 ("The countless flakes, seen against the dark evergreens like a web that is woven in the air, impart a cheerful and busy aspect to nature.")
.December 14, 1851 ("The chickadees remind me of Hudson's Bay for some reason. I look on them as natives of a more northern latitude")
December 14. 1851 ("The boys have been skating for a week, but I have had no time to skate for surveying. I have hardly realized that there was ice, though I have walked over it about this business.")
December 14, 1859 ("Snow-storms might be classified. . . .That of the 11th was a still storm, of large flakes falling gently in the quiet air, like so many white feathers descending in different directions when seen against a wood-side, . . . A myriad falling flakes weaving a coarse garment by which the eye is amused.”)
December 14, 1854 ("Your eye slides first over a plane surface of smooth ice of one color to a water surface of silvery smoothness, like a gem set in ice, and reflecting the weeds and trees and houses and clouds with singular beauty. The reflections are particularly simple and distinct.")
December 14, 1859 ("This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north")
December 14, 1855 (" Looking more closely at the light snow... I found that it was sprinkled all over ... with regular star-shaped cottony flakes with six points, about an eighth of an inch in diameter and on an average a half an inch apart. It snowed geometry.")
December 16, 1852 ("Observe the reflection of the snow on Pine Hill from Walden")
December 16, 1855 ("Steady, gentle, warm rain all the forenoon, and mist and mizzling in the afternoon,")
December 16, 1855 ("As we go over the bridge, admire the reflection of the trees and houses from the smooth open water over the channel, where the ice has been dissolved by the rain.")
December 19, 1854 (" Last night was so cold that the river closed up almost everywhere, and made good skating where there had been no ice to catch the snow of the night before.")
December 20, 1854 ( P. M. — Skate to Fair Haven.”)
December 20, 1854 ("If there is a grub out, you are sure to detect it on the snow or ice.")
December 10, 1856 ("the apparently full moon has fairly commenced her reign, and I go home by her light.")
December 10, 1856 ("The nights are light on account of the snow, and, there being a moon, there is no distinct interval between the day and night.")
December 11, 1854 (“The day is short; it seems to be composed of two twilights merely.”)
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.")
December 13, 1858 ("And on those fine grass heads which are bent over in the path the fine dew-like drops are frozen separately like a string of beads")
December 13, 1855 ("The countless flakes, seen against the dark evergreens like a web that is woven in the air, impart a cheerful and busy aspect to nature.")
.December 14, 1851 ("The chickadees remind me of Hudson's Bay for some reason. I look on them as natives of a more northern latitude")
December 14. 1851 ("The boys have been skating for a week, but I have had no time to skate for surveying. I have hardly realized that there was ice, though I have walked over it about this business.")
December 14, 1859 ("Snow-storms might be classified. . . .That of the 11th was a still storm, of large flakes falling gently in the quiet air, like so many white feathers descending in different directions when seen against a wood-side, . . . A myriad falling flakes weaving a coarse garment by which the eye is amused.”)
December 14, 1854 ("Your eye slides first over a plane surface of smooth ice of one color to a water surface of silvery smoothness, like a gem set in ice, and reflecting the weeds and trees and houses and clouds with singular beauty. The reflections are particularly simple and distinct.")
December 14, 1859 ("This is a fine, dry snow, drifting nearly horizontally from the north")
December 14, 1855 (" Looking more closely at the light snow... I found that it was sprinkled all over ... with regular star-shaped cottony flakes with six points, about an eighth of an inch in diameter and on an average a half an inch apart. It snowed geometry.")
December 16, 1852 ("Observe the reflection of the snow on Pine Hill from Walden")
December 16, 1855 ("Steady, gentle, warm rain all the forenoon, and mist and mizzling in the afternoon,")
December 16, 1855 ("As we go over the bridge, admire the reflection of the trees and houses from the smooth open water over the channel, where the ice has been dissolved by the rain.")
December 19, 1854 (" Last night was so cold that the river closed up almost everywhere, and made good skating where there had been no ice to catch the snow of the night before.")
December 20, 1854 ( P. M. — Skate to Fair Haven.”)
December 20, 1854 ("If there is a grub out, you are sure to detect it on the snow or ice.")
December 20, 1856 ("Rain more or less all day.")
December 20, 1855 ("A few chickadees busily inspecting the buds at the willow-row ivy tree, for insects, with a short, clear chink from time to time, as if to warn me of their neighborhood")
December 22, 1855 ("Warm rain and frost coming out and muddy walking.")
December 23, 1851 ("Gradually the sun sinks, the air grows more dusky, and I perceive that if it were not for the light reflected from the snow it would be quite dark. The woodchopper has started for home.")
December 28 1852 ("Keep the time, observe the hours of the universe,")
December 28, 1858 ("I notice a few chickadees there in the edge of the pines, in the sun, lisping and twittering cheerfully to one another, with a reference to me, I think, — the cunning and innocent little birds. ")
December 20, 1855 ("A few chickadees busily inspecting the buds at the willow-row ivy tree, for insects, with a short, clear chink from time to time, as if to warn me of their neighborhood")
December 22, 1855 ("Warm rain and frost coming out and muddy walking.")
December 23, 1851 ("Gradually the sun sinks, the air grows more dusky, and I perceive that if it were not for the light reflected from the snow it would be quite dark. The woodchopper has started for home.")
December 28 1852 ("Keep the time, observe the hours of the universe,")
December 28, 1858 ("I notice a few chickadees there in the edge of the pines, in the sun, lisping and twittering cheerfully to one another, with a reference to me, I think, — the cunning and innocent little birds. ")
Hearing the whistle
of the locomotive takes
me out of body.
I see clearly what
at other times I only
dimly remember.
The earth's extent
the freedom of all nature
and the sky's depth.
January 11, 1852 ("Let me not live as if time was short")
December 15, 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
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2023
tinyurl.com/hdt15dec
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