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
The art of walking
is to saunter daily with
no specific ends.
What you recall of
a walk the second day will
differ from the first.
Translucent leaves –
andromeda lit up like
cathedral windows.
Cold and blustery.
Crows flapping and sailing and
buffeting about.
Red alder catkins
dangling in the wintry air
promise a new spring.
I walk back and forth
in the road waiting to see
pink light from the snow.
The village windows
reflect the setting sun with
a dazzling glitter
The kitchen windows were magnificent last night, with their frost sheaves, surpassing any cut or ground glass. January 10, 1856
in addition
to my solitude
frost on the window
Issa
The fourth remarkably mild day. January 10, 1853
The weather has considerably moderated; - 2° at breakfast time (it was — 8° at seven last evening); but this has been the coldest night probably. January 10, 1856
Cold weather at last; -8° this forenoon. This is much the coldest afternoon to bear as yet, . . .-— four or five below at 3 P. M.. January 10, 1859
P. M. – To Goose Pond across Walden. January 10, 1858
The north side of Walden is a warm walk in sunny weather. January 10, 1858
The alder is one of the prettiest of trees and shrubs in the winter, it is evidently so full of life, with its conspicuous pretty red catkins dangling from it on all sides. January 10, 1859
Westward forty rods, the surface of the stream reflected a silvery whiteness, but gradually darkened thence eastward, till beneath us it was almost quite black. January 10, 1854
What you can recall of a walk on the second day will differ from what you remember on the first day . . . as any view changes to one who is journeying amid mountains when he has increased the distance. January 10, 1854
If you are sick and despairing, go forth in winter and see the red alder catkins dangling at the extremities of the twigs, all in the wintry air, like long, hard mulberries, promising a new spring and the fulfillment of all our hopes. January 10, 1858
We prize any tenderness, any softening, in the winter, – catkins, birds’ nests, insect life, etc., etc. The most I get, perchance, is the sight of a mulberry-like red catkin which I know has a dormant life in it, seemingly greater than my own. January 10, 1858
It seems to dread the winter less than other plants. It has a certain heyday and cheery look, and less stiff than most, with more of the flexible grace of summer. January 10, 1859
With those dangling clusters of red catkins which it switches in the face of winter, it brags for all vegetation. It is not daunted by the cold, but hangs gracefully still over the frozen stream. January 10, 1859
These gleaming birch and alder and other twigs are a phenomenon still perfect, — that gossamer or cobweb-like reflection. January 10, 1859
These gleaming birch and alder and other twigs are a phenomenon still perfect, — that gossamer or cobweb-like reflection. January 10, 1859
I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of taking walks daily . . . who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering. January 10, 1851
When we were walking last evening, Tappan admired the soft rippling of the Assabet under Tarbell's bank. January 10, 1854
One could have lain all night under the oaks there listening to it . January 10, 1854
One could have lain all night under the oaks there listening to it . January 10, 1854
Westward forty rods, the surface of the stream reflected a silvery whiteness, but gradually darkened thence eastward, till beneath us it was almost quite black. January 10, 1854
What you can recall of a walk on the second day will differ from what you remember on the first day . . . as any view changes to one who is journeying amid mountains when he has increased the distance. January 10, 1854
The near and bare hills covered with snow look like mountains, but the mountains in the horizon do not look higher than hills. January 10, 1851
I frequently see a hole in the snow where a partridge has squatted, the mark or form of her tail very distinct. January 10, 1851
About half an hour before sunset this intensely clear cold evening (thermometer at five -6°), I observe all the sheets of ice (and they abound everywhere now in the fields), when I look from one side about at right angles with the sun’s rays, reflect a green light. This is the case even when they are in the shade. January 10, 1859
I frequently see a hole in the snow where a partridge has squatted, the mark or form of her tail very distinct. January 10, 1851
Cold and blustering as it is, the crows are flapping and sailing about and buffeting one another as usual. January 10, 1855
I cannot thaw out to life the snow-fleas which yesterday covered the snow like pepper, in a frozen state. January 10, 1854
The sportsmen chose the late thaw to go after quails. January 10, 1854
I cannot thaw out to life the snow-fleas which yesterday covered the snow like pepper, in a frozen state. January 10, 1854
The sportsmen chose the late thaw to go after quails. January 10, 1854
They come out at such times to pick the horse-dung in the roads, and can be traced thence to their haunts. January 10, 1854
I mistook the creaking of a tree in the woods the other day for the scream of a hawk. How numerous the resemblances of the animate to the inanimate ! January 10, 1854
I love to wade and flounder through the swamp now, these bitter cold days when the snow lies deep on the ground. January 10, 1856
I need travel but little way from the town to get to a Nova Zembla solitude, — to wade through the swamps, all snowed up, untracked by man, into which the fine dry snow is still drifting. January 10, 1856
To Beck Stow’s. The swamp is suddenly frozen up again, and they are carting home the mud which was dug out last fall, in great frozen masses. January 10, 1855
The twigs of the Andromeda Polifolia, with its rich leaves turned to .a mulberry-color above by the winter, with a. bluish bloom and a delicate bluish white, as in summer, beneath, project above the ice. January 10, 1855
Then there is the Andromeda calyculata, its leaves. . . pale-brown beneath, reddish above, with minute whitish dots. January 10, 1855
As I go toward the sun now at 4 P. M., the translucent leaves are lit up by it and appear of a soft red, more or less brown, like cathedral windows, but when I look back from the sun, the whole bed appears merely gray and brown. January 10, 1855
The leaves of the lambkill, now recurved, are more or less reddish. January 10, 1855
The great buds of the swamp-pink, on the central twig, clustered together, are more or less imbrowned and reddened. January 10, 1855
We are reduced to admire buds, even like the partridges, and bark, like the rabbits and mice, —the great yellow and red forward-looking buds of the azalea, the plump red ones of the blueberry, and the fine sharp red ones of the panicled andromeda, sleeping along its stem, the speckled black alder, the rapid-growing dogwood, the pale-brown and cracked blueberry. January 10, 1856
I mistook the creaking of a tree in the woods the other day for the scream of a hawk. How numerous the resemblances of the animate to the inanimate ! January 10, 1854
I love to wade and flounder through the swamp now, these bitter cold days when the snow lies deep on the ground. January 10, 1856
I need travel but little way from the town to get to a Nova Zembla solitude, — to wade through the swamps, all snowed up, untracked by man, into which the fine dry snow is still drifting. January 10, 1856
To Beck Stow’s. The swamp is suddenly frozen up again, and they are carting home the mud which was dug out last fall, in great frozen masses. January 10, 1855
The twigs of the Andromeda Polifolia, with its rich leaves turned to .a mulberry-color above by the winter, with a. bluish bloom and a delicate bluish white, as in summer, beneath, project above the ice. January 10, 1855
Then there is the Andromeda calyculata, its leaves. . . pale-brown beneath, reddish above, with minute whitish dots. January 10, 1855
As I go toward the sun now at 4 P. M., the translucent leaves are lit up by it and appear of a soft red, more or less brown, like cathedral windows, but when I look back from the sun, the whole bed appears merely gray and brown. January 10, 1855
The leaves of the lambkill, now recurved, are more or less reddish. January 10, 1855
The great buds of the swamp-pink, on the central twig, clustered together, are more or less imbrowned and reddened. January 10, 1855
We are reduced to admire buds, even like the partridges, and bark, like the rabbits and mice, —the great yellow and red forward-looking buds of the azalea, the plump red ones of the blueberry, and the fine sharp red ones of the panicled andromeda, sleeping along its stem, the speckled black alder, the rapid-growing dogwood, the pale-brown and cracked blueberry. January 10, 1856
Went a-chestnutting this afternoon to Smith's wood-lot near the Turnpike. January 10, 1853
Carried four ladies. I raked. We got six and a half quarts, the ground being bare and the leaves not frozen. January 10, 1853
Many chestnuts are still in the burs on the ground. January 10, 1853
Aunt found a twig which had apparently fallen prematurely, with eight small burs, all within the compass of its five or six inches, and all but one full of nuts. January 10, 1853
See, returning, amid the Roman wormwood in front of the Monroe place by the river, half a dozen goldfinches feeding just like the sparrows. How warm their yellow breasts look! They utter the goldfinches’ watery twitter still. January 10, 1859
I walk back and forth in the road waiting to see the pink. January 10, 1859
Who can foretell the sunset – what it will be? January 10, 1851
Carried four ladies. I raked. We got six and a half quarts, the ground being bare and the leaves not frozen. January 10, 1853
Many chestnuts are still in the burs on the ground. January 10, 1853
Aunt found a twig which had apparently fallen prematurely, with eight small burs, all within the compass of its five or six inches, and all but one full of nuts. January 10, 1853
See, returning, amid the Roman wormwood in front of the Monroe place by the river, half a dozen goldfinches feeding just like the sparrows. How warm their yellow breasts look! They utter the goldfinches’ watery twitter still. January 10, 1859
I walk back and forth in the road waiting to see the pink. January 10, 1859
Who can foretell the sunset – what it will be? January 10, 1851
About half an hour before sunset this intensely clear cold evening (thermometer at five -6°), I observe all the sheets of ice (and they abound everywhere now in the fields), when I look from one side about at right angles with the sun’s rays, reflect a green light. This is the case even when they are in the shade. January 10, 1859
Standing thus on one side of the hill, I begin to see a pink light reflected from the snow there about fifteen minutes before the sun sets. January 10, 1859
This gradually deepens to purple and violet in some places, and the pink is very distinct, especially when, after looking at the simply white snow on other sides, you turn your eyes to the hill. January 10, 1859
This is one of the phenomena of the winter sunset, this distinct pink light reflected from the brows of snow-clad hills on one side of you as you are facing the sun. January 10, 1859
I hear the ground crack with a very loud sound and a great jar in the evening and in the course of the night several times. It is once as loud and heavy as the explosion of the Acton powder-mills. January 10, 1859
This cracking is heard all over New England, at least, this night. January 10, 1859
The windows on the skirts of the village reflect the setting sun with intense brilliancy, a dazzling glitter, it is so cold. January 10, 1859
March 27, 1857 ("The men and things of to-day are wont to lie fairer and truer in to-morrow’s memory.").
April 19 1852 ("That phenomenon of the andromeda seen against the sun cheers me exceedingly")
April 20, 1854 ("I find some advantage in describing the experience of a day on the day following. At this distance it is more ideal, like the landscape seen with the head inverted, or reflections in water. ")
This gradually deepens to purple and violet in some places, and the pink is very distinct, especially when, after looking at the simply white snow on other sides, you turn your eyes to the hill. January 10, 1859
This is one of the phenomena of the winter sunset, this distinct pink light reflected from the brows of snow-clad hills on one side of you as you are facing the sun. January 10, 1859
I hear the ground crack with a very loud sound and a great jar in the evening and in the course of the night several times. It is once as loud and heavy as the explosion of the Acton powder-mills. January 10, 1859
This cracking is heard all over New England, at least, this night. January 10, 1859
The windows on the skirts of the village reflect the setting sun with intense brilliancy, a dazzling glitter, it is so cold. January 10, 1859
******
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Alders
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau the Goldfinch
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the American Crow
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Sunsets
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, When the ice turns green
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Colors
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, at Beck Stow's Swamp
******
March 27, 1857 ("The men and things of to-day are wont to lie fairer and truer in to-morrow’s memory.").
April 19 1852 ("That phenomenon of the andromeda seen against the sun cheers me exceedingly")
April 20, 1854 ("I find some advantage in describing the experience of a day on the day following. At this distance it is more ideal, like the landscape seen with the head inverted, or reflections in water. ")
May 5, 1852 ("I succeed best when I recur to my experience not too late, but within a day or two; when there is some distance, but enough of freshness. ")
August 4, 1856 ("Carried party a-berrying to Conantum in boat.")
August 12, 1853 ("To Conantum by boat, berrying, with three ladies.):
August 14, 1856 ("Just beyond the last large (two-stemmed) chestnut at Saw Mill Brook”)
September 25, 1858 ("Go a-graping up Assabet with some young ladies.")
October 12, 1858 ("The leaves of the azaleas are falling, mostly fallen, and revealing the large blossom-buds, so prepared are they for another year. ")October 18, 1856 ("Within this thick prickly bur the nuts are about as safe until they are quite mature, as a porcupine behind its spines.")
October 22, 1857("Chestnut trees are almost bare. Now is just the time for chestnuts.");
October 22, 1857("Chestnut trees are almost bare. Now is just the time for chestnuts.");
October 23, 1855 ("Now is the time for chestnuts. A stone cast against the trees shakes them down in showers upon one’s head and shoulders.");
October 24, 1857 ("I hear the dull thump of heavy stones against the trees from far through the rustling wood, where boys are ranging for nuts. ")
October 24, 1857 ("I hear the dull thump of heavy stones against the trees from far through the rustling wood, where boys are ranging for nuts. ")
October 24, 1857 ("To Smith's chestnut grove. . . . 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. Of course you will shake the tree first, if there are any on it. The nuts lie commonly two or three together, as they fell. . . .As I go stooping and brushing the leaves aside by the hour, I am not thinking of chestnuts merely, but I find myself humming a thought of more significance.")
October 26, 1853 ("Now leaves are off, or chiefly off, I begin to notice the buds of various form and color and more or less conspicuous, prepared for another season, — partly, too, perhaps, for food for birds.")October 30, 1853 ("Now, now is the time to look at the buds.”)
November 6, 1853 ("The plump, roundish, club-shaped, well-protected buds of the alders, and rich purplish or mulberry catkins, three, four, or five together. ")
November 6, 1853 ("The plump, roundish, club-shaped, well-protected buds of the alders, and rich purplish or mulberry catkins, three, four, or five together. ")
November 24, 1859 ("a flock of goldfinches eating the seed of the Roman wormwood. "):
November 24, 1857 ("Looking toward the sun, the andromeda in front of me is a very warm red brown and on either side of me, a pale silvery brown; looking from the sun, a uniform pale brown. . . .These andromeda swamps charmed me more than twenty years sgo, — I knew not why —")
November 25, 1860 (“I see a very great collection of crows far and wide on the meadows, evidently gathered by this cold and blustering weather.”)
November 28, 1856 ("To chestnut wood by Turnpike, to see if I could find my comb, probably lost out of my pocket when I climbed and shook a chestnut tree more than a month ago. Unexpectedly find many chestnuts in the burs which have fallen some time ago. Many are spoiled, but the rest,. . . are softer and sweeter than a month ago, very agreeable to my palate")
December 1, 1852 ("At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring.")
December 1, 1852 ("At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring.")
December 5, 1856 ("I love the winter, with its imprisonment and its cold,")
December 8, 1850 ("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 12, 1856 (“At the wall between Saw Mill Brook Falls and Red Choke-berry Path, . . see where they [squirrels] have dug the burs out of the snow, and then sat on a rock or the wall and gnawed them in pieces. I, too, dig many burs out of the snow with my foot”)
December 19, 1850 ("The catkins of the alders are as tender and fresh-looking as ripe mulberries.")December 12, 1856 (“At the wall between Saw Mill Brook Falls and Red Choke-berry Path, . . see where they [squirrels] have dug the burs out of the snow, and then sat on a rock or the wall and gnawed them in pieces. I, too, dig many burs out of the snow with my foot”)
December 19, 1856 ("[I]n Amherst, I had been awaked by the loud cracking of the 'ground, which shook the house like the explosion of a powder-mill. . . . This is a sound peculiar to the coldest nights.")
December 20, 1854 ("in some places, where the sun falls on it, the snow has a pinkish tinge")
December 21, 1854 ("The last rays of the sun falling on the Baker Farm reflect a clear pink color.")
December 21, 1854 ("The last rays of the sun falling on the Baker Farm reflect a clear pink color.")
December 22, 1859 ("I see in the chestnut woods near Flint's Pond where squirrels have collected the small chestnut burs left the trunks on the snow.")
December 22, 1858 ("a flock of F. hyemalis and goldfinches together, on the snow and weeds and ground. Hear the well-known mew and watery twitter of the last . . . These burning yellow birds with a little black and white on their coat-flaps look warm above the snow.")
December 23, 1859 ("You may walk eastward in the winter afternoon till the ice begins to look green, half to three quarters of an hour before sunset, the sun having sunk behind you to the proper angle. Then it is time to turn your steps homeward.")
December 23, 1856 ("The cracking of the ground is a phenomenon of the coldest nights")
December 25, 1858 (“The sun getting low now, say at 3.30, I see the ice green, southeast.”)
December 27, 1852 ("Found chestnuts quite plenty to-day.")
December 29, 1859 ("To-night I notice the rose-color in the snow and the green in the ice at the same time, having been looking out for them.")
December 29, 1851 ("What a fine and measureless joy the gods grant us thus, letting us know nothing about the day that is to dawn! This day, yesterday, was as incredible as any other miracle.")
What measureless joy
to know nothing about the
day that is to dawn!
December 29, 1851
December 31, 1852 ("I was this afternoon gathering chestnuts at Saw Mill Brook. I have within a few weeks spent some hours thus, scraping away the leaves with my hands and feet over some square rods, and have at least learned how chestnuts are planted and new forests raised.")January 2, 1855 ("Yesterday we saw the pink light on the snow within a rod of us.")
January 3, 1858 ("Going to the Andromeda Ponds, I was greeted by the warm brown-red glow of the Andromeda calyculata toward the sun. I see where I have been through, the more reddish under sides apparently being turned up. ")
January 5, 1851 ("The catkins of the alders are now frozen stiff !!")
January 7, 1851 ("There is no account of the blue sky in history. I must live above all in the present.")
Live in the present.
There is no account of the
blue sky in history.
January 7, 1851
January 7, 1855 ("Here comes a little flock of titmice, plainly to keep me company, with their black caps and throats making them look top-heavy, restlessly hopping along the alders, with a sharp, clear, lisping note")
January 7, 1856 ("At breakfast time the thermometer stood at - 12°. Earlier it was probably much lower. Smith’s was at -24° early this morning.")
January 7, 1857 ("I come out to these solitudes, where the problem of existence is simplified. I get away a mile or two from the town into the stillness and solitude of nature, with rocks, trees, weeds, snow about me . . . and it is as if I had come to an open window. I see out and around myself. )
January 7, 1856 (“ It is probably a constant phenomenon in cold weather when the ground is covered with snow and the sun is low, morning or evening, and you are looking from it.”)
January 7, 1860 ("Saw a large flock of goldfinches running and feeding amid the weeds in a pasture, just like tree sparrows.")
January 8, 1851 ("The light of the setting sun falling on the snow-banks today make them glow almost yellow.")January 8, 1856 ("I see prying into the black fruit of the alder, along the pond-side, a single probably lesser redpoll yellowish breast and distinct white bar on wing.")
January 9, 1856 ("Clear, cold morning. Probably it has been below zero for the greater part of the day.")
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 ("The glory of these afternoons, though the sky may be mostly overcast, is in the ineffably clear blue, or else pale greenish-yellow, patches of sky in the west just before sunset.")
January 11, 1859 ("It would appear then that the ground cracks on the advent of very severe cold weather. I had not heard it before, this winter. It was so when I went to Amherst a winter or two ago. )
January 11, 1859 ("At 6 A. M. -22° and how much more I know not, ours having gone into the bulb")
January 11, 1859 ("At 6 A. M. -22° and how much more I know not, ours having gone into the bulb")
January 12, 1855 ("Well may the tender buds attract us at this season, no less than partridges, for they are the hope of the year, the spring rolled up. The summer is all packed in them.")
January 19, 1859 ("I see a rosy tinge like dust on the snow when I look directly toward the setting sun, but very little on the hills. Methinks this pink on snow (as well as blue shadows) requires a clear, cold evening.")January 19, 1859 ("To-night I notice, this warm evening, that there is most green in the ice when I go directly from the sun. There is also considerable when I go directly toward it, but more than that a little one side; but when I look at right angles with the sun, I see none at all.")
Janusry 20, 1859 ("The green of the ice and water begins to be visible about half an hour before sunset. Is it produced by the reflected blue of the sky mingling with the yellow or pink of the setting sun?")
January 23, 1859 ("I notice on the ice where it slopes up eastward a little, a distinct rosy light (or pink) reflected from it generally, half an hour before sunset. This is a colder evening than of late, and there is so much the more of it.")
January 23, 1857 ("The coldest day that I remember recording . . .I may safely say that -5° has been the highest temperature to-day.")
January 24, 1860 ("See a large flock of lesser redpolls, eating the seeds of the birch (and perhaps alder) in Dennis Swamp by railroad.")
January 24, 1855 ("Those Andromeda Ponds are very attractive spots to me. They are filled with a dense bed of the small andromeda, a dull red mass as commonly seen, brighter or translucent red looking toward the sun, grayish looking from it.")
January 25, 1858 ('What a rich book might be made about buds.")
January 25, 1853 ("I still pick chestnuts.")
January 25, 1856 ("The hardest day to bear that we have had, for, beside being 5° at noon and at 4 P. M., there is a strong northwest wind. It is worse than when the thermometer was at zero all day. ")
January 26, 1860 ("Though you walk every day, you do not foresee the kind of walking you will have the next day")
Though you walk each day,
you do not foresee the walk
you have the next day.
January 26, 1860
January 26, 1857 ("Another cold morning. None looked early, but about eight it was -14°");
January 29, 1858 ("I go through the northerly part of Beck Stow's, north of the new road. For a great distance it is an exceedingly dense thicket of blueberry bushes. . . The small red and yellow buds, the maze of gray twigs, the green and red sphagnum, the conspicuous yellowish buds of the swamp-pink with the diverging valves of its seed-vessels, the dried choke-berries still common, these and the like are the attractions")
January 31, 1854 ("In the winter, when there are no flowers and leaves are rare, even large buds are interesting and somewhat exciting. I go a-budding like a partridge. I am always attracted at this season by the buds of the swamp-pink, the poplars, and the sweet-gale.")
January 31, 1859 ("Perhaps the green seen at the same time in ice and water is produced by the general yellow or amber light of this hour, mingled with the blue of the reflected sky.")January 31, 1859 (" The pink light reflected from the low, flat snowy surfaces amid the ice on the meadows, just before sunset, is a constant phenomenon these clear winter days. . . . I also see this pink in the dust made by the skaters.")
February 7, 1855 ("Thermometer at about 7.30 A. M. gone into the bulb, -19° at least. The cold has stopped the clock.")
February 7, 1855 ("The coldest night for a long, long time. People dreaded to go to bed. The ground cracked in the night as if a powder-mill had blown up")
February 11, 1854 ("Snow-fleas lie in black patches on the ice which froze last night. When I breathe on them I find them all alive and ready to skip.")
February 11, 1854 ("In the winter we so value the semblance of fruit that even the dry black female catkins of the alder are an interesting sight, not to mention, on shoots rising a foot or two above these, the red or mulberry male catkins, in little parcels dangling at a less than right angle with the stems, and the short female ones at their bases.")February 12, 1855 (" I see at Warren’s Crossing where, last night perhaps, some partridges rested in this light, dry, deep snow. They must have been almost completely buried. They have left their traces at the bottom. They are such holes as would be made by crowding their bodies in backwards, slanting-wise, while perhaps their heads were left out.")
February 13, 1855 ("The tracks of partridges are more remarkable in this snow than usual, it is so light, being at the same time a foot deep. In one place, when alighting, the primary quills, five of them, have marked the snow for a foot. I see where many have dived into the snow, apparently last night, . . .They appear to have dived or burrowed into it, then passed along a foot or more underneath and squatted there, perhaps, with their heads out, and have invariably left much dung at the end of this hole. I scared one from its hole only half a rod in front of me now at 11 A.M")
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, January 10
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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