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.
I love best to have
each thing in season only
and then do without.
December 5, 1856
There is a bright light
on the pines and on their stems –
the lichens on their bark.
December 5, 1850
Many winter birds
have a sharp note like tinkling
glass or icicles.
December 5, 1853
have a sharp note like tinkling
glass or icicles.
December 5, 1853
Pale blue winter sky
simple, perfectly cloudless –
a white moon half full.
December 5, 1856
To be born into
the most estimable place
in the nick of time.
December 5, 1856
December 5, 2020
What a contrast between this week and last. December 5, 1856
The ground has been frozen more or less about a week. December 5, 1853
Suddenly we have passed from Indian summer to winter. December 5, 1859
Snowed yesterday afternoon, and now it is three or four inches deep. December 5, 1858
Clear, cold winter weather. December 5, 1856
Probably river skimmed over in some places. December 5, 1854
The river is well skimmed over in most places. December 5, 1856
The river frozen over thinly in most places and whitened with snow, which was sprinkled on it this noon. December 5, 1853
Fair Haven Pond is skimmed completely over. December 5, 1853
Got my boat in. December 5, 1853
I love to have the river closed up for a season and a pause put to my boating, to be obliged to get my boat in. December 5, 1856
I shall launch it again in the spring with so much more pleasure. December 5, 1856
I love best to have each thing in its season only, and enjoy doing without it at all other times. December 5, 1856
The damp snow with water beneath . . . is frozen solid, making a crust which bears well. December 5, 1854
There are a great many walnuts on the trees, seen black against the sky, and the wind has scattered many over the snow-crust. December 5, 1856
It would be easier gathering them now than ever. December 5, 1856
The partridge is budding on the apple tree and bursts away from the path-side. December 5, 1853
Four quails running across the Turnpike. December 5, 1859
Before I got home the whole atmosphere was suddenly filled with a mellow yellowish light equally diffused, so that it seemed much lighter around me than immediately after the sun sank behind the horizon cloud, fifteen minutes before. December 5, 1853
I love the winter, with its imprisonment and its cold. December 5, 1856
February 19, 1854 ("Who placed us with eyes between a microscopic and a telescopic world?”)
April 13, 1852 ("The imprisoning storm condenses our thoughts.”)
April 24, 1859 ("There is a season for everything, and we do not notice a given phenomenon except at that season, if, indeed, it can be called the same phenomenon at any other season").
August 3, 1852 ("By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe.")
August 6, 1852 ("We live, as it were, within the calyx of a flower.")
August 22, 1854 ("There is, no doubt, a particular season of the year when each place may be visited with most profit and pleasure, and it may be worth the while to consider what that season is in each case.")
August 23, 1853 ("Live in each season as it passes.")
August 23, 1853 ("Nature is doing her best each moment to make us well. She exists for no other end")
September 9, 1854 ("The earth is the mother of all creatures.")
December 4, 1853 ("Flint's Pond only skimmed a little at the shore, like the river.")
December 4, 1853 ("Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear.")
December 4, 1856 ("Each day at present, the wriggling river nibbles off the edges of the trap which have advanced in the night.")
Suddenly we have passed from Indian summer to winter. December 5, 1859
Snowed yesterday afternoon, and now it is three or four inches deep. December 5, 1858
Clear, cold winter weather. December 5, 1856
Probably river skimmed over in some places. December 5, 1854
The river is well skimmed over in most places. December 5, 1856
The river frozen over thinly in most places and whitened with snow, which was sprinkled on it this noon. December 5, 1853
Fair Haven Pond is skimmed completely over. December 5, 1853
Got my boat in. December 5, 1853
I love to have the river closed up for a season and a pause put to my boating, to be obliged to get my boat in. December 5, 1856
I shall launch it again in the spring with so much more pleasure. December 5, 1856
I love best to have each thing in its season only, and enjoy doing without it at all other times. December 5, 1856
The damp snow with water beneath . . . is frozen solid, making a crust which bears well. December 5, 1854
There are a great many walnuts on the trees, seen black against the sky, and the wind has scattered many over the snow-crust. December 5, 1856
It would be easier gathering them now than ever. December 5, 1856
Some fine straw-colored grasses . . . still rise above this crusted snow, and even a recess is melted around them. December 5, 1856
The johnswort and the larger pinweed are conspicuous above the snow. December 5, 1856
As I walk along the side of the Hill, a pair of nuthatches flit by toward a walnut, flying low in mid- course and then ascending to the tree. December 5, 1856
I hear one's faint tut tut or gnah gnah — no doubt heard a good way by its mate now flown into the next tree .December 5, 1856
It is a chubby bird, white, slate-color, and black. December 5, 1856
Saw and heard a downy woodpecker on an apple tree. December 5, 1853
As I walk along the side of the Hill, a pair of nuthatches flit by toward a walnut, flying low in mid- course and then ascending to the tree. December 5, 1856
I hear one's faint tut tut or gnah gnah — no doubt heard a good way by its mate now flown into the next tree .December 5, 1856
It is a chubby bird, white, slate-color, and black. December 5, 1856
Saw and heard a downy woodpecker on an apple tree. December 5, 1853
Have not many winter birds, like this and the chickadee, a sharp note like tinkling glass or icicles? December 5, 1853
The chip of the tree sparrow, also, and the whistle of the shrike, are they not wintry in the same way ? December 5, 1853
Four quails running across the Turnpike. December 5, 1859
At noon a few flakes fall. December 5, 1857
Rather hard walking in the snow. December 5, 1859
There is a slight mist in the air and accordingly some glaze on the twigs and leaves December 5, 1859
The perfect silence, as if the whispering and creaking earth were muffled (her axle). December 5, 1859
The stillness (motionlessness) of the twigs and of the very weeds and withered grasses, as if they were sculptured out of marble. December 5, 1859
A fine mizzle falling and freezing to the twigs and stubble, so that there is quite a glaze. December 5, 1858
The stiffened ice-coated weeds and grasses on the causeway recall past winters. December 5, 1858
These humble withered plants, which have not of late attracted your attention, now arrest it by their very stiffness and exaggerated size. December 5, 1858
Some grass culms eighteen inches or two feet high, which nobody noticed, are an inexhaustible supply of slender ice-wands set in the snow. December 5, 1858
The grasses and weeds bent to the crusty surface form arches of various forms. December 5, 1858
It is surprising how the slenderest grasses can support such a weight, but the culm is buttressed by an other icy culm or column, and the load gradually taken on. December 5, 1858
In the woods the drooping pines compel you to stoop. December 5, 1858
In all directions they are bowed down, hanging their heads. December 5, 1858
Rather hard walking in the snow. December 5, 1859
There is a slight mist in the air and accordingly some glaze on the twigs and leaves December 5, 1859
The perfect silence, as if the whispering and creaking earth were muffled (her axle). December 5, 1859
The stillness (motionlessness) of the twigs and of the very weeds and withered grasses, as if they were sculptured out of marble. December 5, 1859
A fine mizzle falling and freezing to the twigs and stubble, so that there is quite a glaze. December 5, 1858
The stiffened ice-coated weeds and grasses on the causeway recall past winters. December 5, 1858
These humble withered plants, which have not of late attracted your attention, now arrest it by their very stiffness and exaggerated size. December 5, 1858
Some grass culms eighteen inches or two feet high, which nobody noticed, are an inexhaustible supply of slender ice-wands set in the snow. December 5, 1858
The grasses and weeds bent to the crusty surface form arches of various forms. December 5, 1858
It is surprising how the slenderest grasses can support such a weight, but the culm is buttressed by an other icy culm or column, and the load gradually taken on. December 5, 1858
In the woods the drooping pines compel you to stoop. December 5, 1858
In all directions they are bowed down, hanging their heads. December 5, 1858
Several small white oak trees full of stiffened leaves by the roadside, strangely interesting and beautiful. December 5, 1859
The evergreens are greener than ever. There is a peculiar bright light on the pines and on their stems. The lichens on their bark reflect it. December 5, 1850
Some sugar maples, both large and small, have still, like the larger oaks, a few leaves about the larger limbs near the trunk. December 5, 1858
The large yellowish leaves of the black oak (young trees) are peculiarly conspicuous, rich and warm, in the midst of this ice and snow December 5, 1858
Some sugar maples, both large and small, have still, like the larger oaks, a few leaves about the larger limbs near the trunk. December 5, 1858
The large yellowish leaves of the black oak (young trees) are peculiarly conspicuous, rich and warm, in the midst of this ice and snow December 5, 1858
And on the causeway the yellowish bark of the willows gleams warmly through the ice. December 5, 1858
The birches are still upright, and their numerous parallel white ice-rods remind me of the recent gossamer-like gleams which they reflected. December 5, 1858
Half a mile off, a tall and slender pitch pine against the dull-gray mist, peculiarly monumental. December 5, 1859
Many living leaves are very dark red now. . . the checkerberry, andromeda, low cedar, and more or less lambkill. December 5, 1853
Now for the short days and early twilight, in which I hear the sound of woodchopping. December 5, 1853
The sun goes down behind a low cloud, and the world is darkened. December 5,1853
It is a perfectly cloudless and simple winter sky. December 5, 1856
A white moon, half full, in the pale or dull blue heaven and a whiteness like the reflection of the snow, extending up from the horizon all around a quarter the way up to the zenith. December 5, 1856 (This at 4 p. m. December 5, 1856)
The sun goes down and leaves not a blush in the sky. December 5, 1856
The birches are still upright, and their numerous parallel white ice-rods remind me of the recent gossamer-like gleams which they reflected. December 5, 1858
Half a mile off, a tall and slender pitch pine against the dull-gray mist, peculiarly monumental. December 5, 1859
Many living leaves are very dark red now. . . the checkerberry, andromeda, low cedar, and more or less lambkill. December 5, 1853
Now for the short days and early twilight, in which I hear the sound of woodchopping. December 5, 1853
The sun goes down behind a low cloud, and the world is darkened. December 5,1853
It is a perfectly cloudless and simple winter sky. December 5, 1856
A white moon, half full, in the pale or dull blue heaven and a whiteness like the reflection of the snow, extending up from the horizon all around a quarter the way up to the zenith. December 5, 1856 (This at 4 p. m. December 5, 1856)
The sun goes down and leaves not a blush in the sky. December 5, 1856
In the horizon I see a succession of the brows of hills, - the eyebrows of the recumbent earth - separated by long valleys filled with vapory haze. December 5, 1850
I have never got over my surprise that I should have been born into the most estimable place in all the world, and in the very nick of time, too. December 5, 1856
I love the winter, with its imprisonment and its cold. December 5, 1856
December 5, 2014
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, First Ice
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Boat in Boat out
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Birds
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Nuthatch
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chickadee in Winter
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Downy Woodpecker
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The White Pines
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, St. Johns-wort (Hypericum)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau. Willows on the Causeway
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Anthropic Principle
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Colors
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Horizon
*****
December 5, 2023
February 19, 1854 ("Who placed us with eyes between a microscopic and a telescopic world?”)
April 13, 1852 ("The imprisoning storm condenses our thoughts.”)
April 24, 1859 ("There is a season for everything, and we do not notice a given phenomenon except at that season, if, indeed, it can be called the same phenomenon at any other season").
August 3, 1852 ("By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe.")
August 6, 1852 ("We live, as it were, within the calyx of a flower.")
August 22, 1854 ("There is, no doubt, a particular season of the year when each place may be visited with most profit and pleasure, and it may be worth the while to consider what that season is in each case.")
August 23, 1853 ("Live in each season as it passes.")
August 23, 1853 ("Nature is doing her best each moment to make us well. She exists for no other end")
September 9, 1854 ("The earth is the mother of all creatures.")
November 3, 1853 ("There are very few phenomena which can be described indifferently as occurring at different seasons of the year, for they will occur with some essential difference.")
November 20, 1857 ("I see a few flakes of snow, two or three only, like flocks of gossamer, straggling in a slanting direction to the ground, unnoticed by most, in a rather raw air.")
November 26, 1860 ("I detect it on the trunk of an oak much nearer than I suspected, and its mate or companion not far off.")
November 29, 1856 ("This is the first snow.")
December 1, 1857 ("I hear the faintest possible quivet from a nuthatch, quite near me on a pine. I thus always begin to hear this bird on the approach of winter")
December 2, 1856 ("Got in my boat,")
December 4, 1856 ("Smooth white reaches of ice, as long as the river, on each side are threatening to bridge over its dark-blue artery any night.")December 4, 1853 ("Flint's Pond only skimmed a little at the shore, like the river.")
December 4, 1853 ("Goose Pond apparently froze over last night, all but a few rods, but not thick enough to bear.")
December 4, 1856 ("Each day at present, the wriggling river nibbles off the edges of the trap which have advanced in the night.")
December 7, 1856 (The winters come now as fast as snowflakes. It was summer, and now again it is winter."")
December 7, 1856 ("Take my first skate to Fair Haven Pond . . .The ice appears to be but three or four inches thick.”)
December 8, 1850 ("The ground is now covered, - our first snow, two inches deep. . . . I am struck by this sudden solitude and remoteness that these places have acquired. The dear privacy and retirement and solitude which winter makes possible!”)
December 8, 1859 ("The birches, seen half a mile off toward the sun, are the purest dazzling white of any tree.")
December 9, 1855 ("At 8.30 a fine snow begins to fall, increasing very gradually, perfectly straight down, till in fifteen minutes the ground is white . . . But in a few minutes it turns to rain, and so the wintry landscape is postponed for the present.”)
December 9, 1855 ("At 8.30 a fine snow begins to fall, increasing very gradually, perfectly straight down, till in fifteen minutes the ground is white . . . But in a few minutes it turns to rain, and so the wintry landscape is postponed for the present.”)
December 9, 1856 ("Fair Haven was so solidly frozen on the 6th that there was fishing on it,")
December 9, 1859 ("The river and Fair Haven Pond froze over generally last night, though they were only frozen along the edges yesterday. This is unusually sudden.")
December 9, 1859 ("The river and Fair Haven Pond froze over generally last night, though they were only frozen along the edges yesterday. This is unusually sudden.")
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, 1855 ("The winter, with its snow and ice, is not an evil to be corrected. It is as it was designed and made to be,")
December 16, 1857 ("Begins to snow about 8 A. M., and in fifteen minutes the ground is white, but it soon stops.")
December 11, 1855 ("The winter, with its snow and ice, is not an evil to be corrected. It is as it was designed and made to be,")
December 16, 1857 ("Begins to snow about 8 A. M., and in fifteen minutes the ground is white, but it soon stops.")
December 21, 1851 ("How swiftly the earth appears to revolve at sunset, which at midday appears to rest on its axle! ")
December 24, 1854 ("A slight glaze, the first of the winter. This gives the woods a hoary aspect and increases the stillness by making the leaves immovable even in considerable wind.")
December 26, 1857 ("Snows all day, — first snow of any consequence, three or four inches in all.")
December 26, 1857 ("Snows all day, — first snow of any consequence, three or four inches in all.")
December 26, 1855 ("The weeds and grasses, being so thickened by this coat of ice, appear much more numerous in the fields. It is surprising what a bristling crop they are.")
December 5, 2020
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,
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 © 2009-2022
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