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
We have none of those
peculiar clear vitreous
crystalline vistas
in the western sky
before sundown of late –
moisture in the air.
February 10, 1852
Go across Walden
bright sunlight on pure white snow –
my shadow is blue.
The river is black
when the waves run high – for each
wave casts a shadow.
A strong northwest wind
shaking the house and driving
smoke down the chimney.
 |
| February 10, 2018 |
A fine, clear day. February 10, 1855
Grows cold toward night, and windy. February 10, 1858
A very strong and a cold northwest wind to-day, shaking the house, — thermometer at 11 a. m., 14°, — consumes wood and yet we are cold, and drives the smoke down the chimney. February 10, 1860
Grows cold toward night, and windy. February 10, 1858
A very strong and a cold northwest wind to-day, shaking the house, — thermometer at 11 a. m., 14°, — consumes wood and yet we are cold, and drives the smoke down the chimney. February 10, 1860
 |
| February 10, 2019 |
When the farmer burns a hole in his yoke, he carries the hot iron quickly from the fire to the wood. It must be used instantly, or it is useless. February 10, 1852
The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.February 10, 1852
I go across Walden. February 10, 1855
There is a glare of light from the fresh surface of the snow, so that it pains the eyes to travel toward the sun. February 10, 1855
My shadow is very blue. It is especially blue when there is a bright sunlight on pure white snow. February 10, 1855
It suggests that there may be some thing divine, something celestial, in me. February 10, 1855
In many places the edges of drifts are sharp and curving, almost a complete circle, reflecting a blue color from within like blue-tinted shells. February 10, 1855
I saw yesterday on the snow on the ice, on the south side of Fair Haven Pond, some hundreds of honey-bees, dead and sunk half an inch below the crust. February 10, 1852
They had evidently come forth from their hive (perhaps in a large hemlock on the bank close by), and had fallen on the snow chilled to death. February 10, 1852
Their bodies extended from the tree to about three rods from it toward the pond. February 10, 1852
Pratt says he would advise me to remove the dead bees, lest somebody else should be led to discover their retreat, and I may get five dollars for the swarm, and perhaps a good deal of honey. February 10, 1852
My shadow is very blue. It is especially blue when there is a bright sunlight on pure white snow. February 10, 1855
It suggests that there may be some thing divine, something celestial, in me. February 10, 1855
In many places the edges of drifts are sharp and curving, almost a complete circle, reflecting a blue color from within like blue-tinted shells. February 10, 1855
I saw yesterday on the snow on the ice, on the south side of Fair Haven Pond, some hundreds of honey-bees, dead and sunk half an inch below the crust. February 10, 1852
They had evidently come forth from their hive (perhaps in a large hemlock on the bank close by), and had fallen on the snow chilled to death. February 10, 1852
Their bodies extended from the tree to about three rods from it toward the pond. February 10, 1852
Pratt says he would advise me to remove the dead bees, lest somebody else should be led to discover their retreat, and I may get five dollars for the swarm, and perhaps a good deal of honey. February 10, 1852
Those little gyrinus-shaped bugs of the 8th, that had come out through a crevice in the ice about a boat frozen in, and were swimming about in the shallow water above the ice, I see are all gone now that that water is frozen, — have not been frozen in. February 10, 1860
So they must have returned back under the ice when it became cold, and this shows that they were not forced up accidentally in the first place, but attracted by the light and warmth, probably as those minnows were some time ago. February 10, 1860
That is, in a thaw in the winter some water-insects — beetles, etc. — will come up through holes in the ice and swim about in the sun.
So they must have returned back under the ice when it became cold, and this shows that they were not forced up accidentally in the first place, but attracted by the light and warmth, probably as those minnows were some time ago. February 10, 1860
That is, in a thaw in the winter some water-insects — beetles, etc. — will come up through holes in the ice and swim about in the sun.
The river, where open, is very black, as usual when the waves run high, for each wave casts a shadow. February 10, 1860
Theophrastus notices that the roughened water is black, and says that it is because fewer rays fall on it and the light is dissipated. February 10, 1860
It is a day for those rake and horn icicles; the water, dashing against the southeast shores where they chance to be open, i. e. free of ice, and blown a rod inland, freezes to the bushes, forming rakes and oftener horns. February 10, 1860
The very grass stubble is completely encased for a rod in width along the shore, and the trunks of trees for two or three feet up.February 10, 1860
Any sprig lying on the edge of the ice is completely crusted. February 10, 1860
Sometimes the low button-bush twigs with their few remaining small dark balls, and also the drooping corymbs of the late rose hips, are completely encased in an icicle, and you see their bright scarlet reflected through the ice in an exaggerated manner. February 10, 1860
If a hair is held up above the ice where this spray is blowing, it is sufficient to start a thick icicle rake or horn, for the ice forming around it becomes at once its own support, and gets to be two or three inches thick. February 10, 1860
Where the open water comes within half a dozen feet of the shore, the spray has blown over the intervening ice and covered the grass and stubble, looking like a glaze, — countless loby fingers and horns over some fine stubble core, — and when the grass or stem is horizontal you have a rake. February 10, 1860
Just as those great organ-pipe icicles drip from rocks have an annular structure growing downward, so these on the horizontal stubble and weeds, when directed to the point toward which the wind was blowing; i. e., they grow thus southeast. February 10, 1860
Then there is the thickened edge of the ice, like a cliff, on the southeast sides of openings against which the wind has dashed the waves, especially on the southeast side of broad meadows. February 10, 1860
No finer walking in any respect than on our broad meadow highway in the winter, when covered with bare ice. February 10, 1860
If the ice is wet, you slip in rubbers; but when it is dry and cold, rubbers give you a firm hold, and you walk with a firm and elastic step. February 10, 1860
I do not know of any more exhilarating walking than up or down a broad field of smooth ice like this in a cold, glittering winter day when your rubbers give you a firm hold on the ice. February 10, 1860
I see that the open places froze last night only on the windward side, where they were less agitated, the waves not yet running so high there. February 10, 1860
A little snow, however, even the mere shavings or dust of ice made by skaters, hinders walking in rubbers very much, for though the rubber may give a good hold on clear ice, when you step on a little of the ice dust or snow you slide on that. February 10, 1860
Theophrastus notices that the roughened water is black, and says that it is because fewer rays fall on it and the light is dissipated. February 10, 1860
It is a day for those rake and horn icicles; the water, dashing against the southeast shores where they chance to be open, i. e. free of ice, and blown a rod inland, freezes to the bushes, forming rakes and oftener horns. February 10, 1860
The very grass stubble is completely encased for a rod in width along the shore, and the trunks of trees for two or three feet up.February 10, 1860
Any sprig lying on the edge of the ice is completely crusted. February 10, 1860
Sometimes the low button-bush twigs with their few remaining small dark balls, and also the drooping corymbs of the late rose hips, are completely encased in an icicle, and you see their bright scarlet reflected through the ice in an exaggerated manner. February 10, 1860
If a hair is held up above the ice where this spray is blowing, it is sufficient to start a thick icicle rake or horn, for the ice forming around it becomes at once its own support, and gets to be two or three inches thick. February 10, 1860
Where the open water comes within half a dozen feet of the shore, the spray has blown over the intervening ice and covered the grass and stubble, looking like a glaze, — countless loby fingers and horns over some fine stubble core, — and when the grass or stem is horizontal you have a rake. February 10, 1860
Just as those great organ-pipe icicles drip from rocks have an annular structure growing downward, so these on the horizontal stubble and weeds, when directed to the point toward which the wind was blowing; i. e., they grow thus southeast. February 10, 1860
Then there is the thickened edge of the ice, like a cliff, on the southeast sides of openings against which the wind has dashed the waves, especially on the southeast side of broad meadows. February 10, 1860
No finer walking in any respect than on our broad meadow highway in the winter, when covered with bare ice. February 10, 1860
If the ice is wet, you slip in rubbers; but when it is dry and cold, rubbers give you a firm hold, and you walk with a firm and elastic step. February 10, 1860
I do not know of any more exhilarating walking than up or down a broad field of smooth ice like this in a cold, glittering winter day when your rubbers give you a firm hold on the ice. February 10, 1860
I see that the open places froze last night only on the windward side, where they were less agitated, the waves not yet running so high there. February 10, 1860
A little snow, however, even the mere shavings or dust of ice made by skaters, hinders walking in rubbers very much, for though the rubber may give a good hold on clear ice, when you step on a little of the ice dust or snow you slide on that. February 10, 1860
I hear the faint metallic chirp of a tree sparrow in the yard from time to time, or perchance the mew of a linaria. February 10, 1855
It is worth the while to let some pigweed grow in your garden, if only to attract these winter visitors. February 10, 1855
It would be a pity to have these weeds burned in the fall. February 10, 1855
Of the former I see in the winter but three or four commonly at a time; of the latter, large flocks. February 10, 1855
This in and after considerable snow-storms. February 10, 1855
Since this deeper snow, the landscape is more wintry than before; the rivers and roads are more concealed than they have been, and billows of snow succeed each other across the fields and roads, like an ocean waste. February 10, 1855
It is worth the while to let some pigweed grow in your garden, if only to attract these winter visitors. February 10, 1855
It would be a pity to have these weeds burned in the fall. February 10, 1855
Of the former I see in the winter but three or four commonly at a time; of the latter, large flocks. February 10, 1855
This in and after considerable snow-storms. February 10, 1855
Since this deeper snow, the landscape is more wintry than before; the rivers and roads are more concealed than they have been, and billows of snow succeed each other across the fields and roads, like an ocean waste. February 10, 1855
February 10, 2014
This is the second freshet since the snows. February 10, 1854
The river has risen again, and, instead of ice and snow, there is water over the ice on the meadows. February 10, 1854
The ice is cracked, and in some places heaved up in the usual manner. February 10, 1854
Returning, I saw a fox on the railroad, at the crossing below the shanty site, eight or nine rods from me. February 10, 1856
He looked of a dirty yellow and lean. I did not notice the white tip to his tail. February 10, 1856
Seeing me, he pricked up his ears and at first ran up and along the east bank on the crust, then changed his mind and came down the steep bank, crossed the railroad before me, and, gliding up the west bank, disappeared in the woods. February 10, 1856
He coursed, or glided, along easily, appearing not to lift his feet high, leaping over obstacles, with his tail extended straight behind. February 10, 1856
He leaped over the ridge of snow about two feet high and three wide between the tracks, very easily and gracefully. February 10, 1856
I followed, examining his tracks. February 10, 1856
There was about a quarter of an inch of recent snow above the crust, but for the most part he broke in two or three inches. I slumped from one to three feet. Sometimes I thought his tail had scraped the snow. February 10, 1856
He went off at an easy gliding pace such as he might keep up for a long time, pretty direct after his first turning. February 10, 1856
The ice is cracked, and in some places heaved up in the usual manner. February 10, 1854
Returning, I saw a fox on the railroad, at the crossing below the shanty site, eight or nine rods from me. February 10, 1856
He looked of a dirty yellow and lean. I did not notice the white tip to his tail. February 10, 1856
Seeing me, he pricked up his ears and at first ran up and along the east bank on the crust, then changed his mind and came down the steep bank, crossed the railroad before me, and, gliding up the west bank, disappeared in the woods. February 10, 1856
He coursed, or glided, along easily, appearing not to lift his feet high, leaping over obstacles, with his tail extended straight behind. February 10, 1856
He leaped over the ridge of snow about two feet high and three wide between the tracks, very easily and gracefully. February 10, 1856
I followed, examining his tracks. February 10, 1856
There was about a quarter of an inch of recent snow above the crust, but for the most part he broke in two or three inches. I slumped from one to three feet. Sometimes I thought his tail had scraped the snow. February 10, 1856
He went off at an easy gliding pace such as he might keep up for a long time, pretty direct after his first turning. February 10, 1856
The sturdy white oak near the Derby railroad bridge has been cut down. It measures five feet and three inches over the stump, at eighteen inches from the ground. February 10, 1854
I see that Wheildon's pines are rocking and showing their silvery undersides as last spring, — their first awakening, as it were. February 10, 1860
We have none of those peculiar clear, vitreous, crystalline vistas in the western sky before sundown of late. There is perchance more moisture in the air. February 10, 1852
Perhaps that phenomenon does not belong to this part of the winter. February 10, 1852
We have none of those peculiar clear, vitreous, crystalline vistas in the western sky before sundown of late. There is perchance more moisture in the air. February 10, 1852
Perhaps that phenomenon does not belong to this part of the winter. February 10, 1852
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bees
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Fox
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Tree Sparrow
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lesser Redpoll
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Winter Birds
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Western Sky
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Water-bug (Gyrinus)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February is Mid-Winter
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Belongs to Spring
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring
February 10, 2019
April 19, 1852 ("That oak by Derby's is a grand object, seen from any side. It stands like an athlete and defies the tempests in every direction. It has not a weak point. It is an agony of strength. Its branches look like stereotyped gray lightning on the sky. But I fear a price is set upon its sturdy trunk and roots for ship-timber, for knees to make stiff the sides of ships against the Atlantic billows.")
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 1, 1855 ("Why have the white pines at a distance that silvery look around their edges or thin parts? Is it owing to the wind showing the under sides of the needles? Methinks you do not see it in the winter.")
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”)
May 6, 1854 ("Every important worker will report what life there is in him.”).
May 8, 1854 ("They are melaina — what is the Greek for waves? This is our black sea.")
May 20, 1858 (“[J]ust before entering the part called Laurel Glen, I heard a noise, and saw a fox running off along the shrubby side-hill. . .It had a dirty or dark brown tail, with very little white to the tip. . . . I heard a bark behind me, and, looking round, saw an old fox on the brow of the hill on the west side of the valley, amid the bushes, about ten rods off, looking down at me. . . .It was a very wild sight to see the wolf-like parent circling about me in the thin wood, from time to time pausing to look and bark at me.”)
July 23, 1851 (“Be impressed without making a minute of it. Put an interval between the impression and the expression, - wait till the seed germinates naturally.”)
September 2, 1851 ("We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto. . . . Expression is the act of the whole man. . . A writer, a man writing, is the scribe of all nature; he is the corn and the grass and the atmosphere writing. It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart.”)
September 4-7, 1851 (“I feel that the juices of the fruits which I have eaten, the melons and apples, have ascended to my brain and are stimulating it. They give me a heady force. Now I can write.”)
September 26, 1858 ("The seeds of pigweed are somewhat peculiar for hanging on all winter.")
September 30, 1852 ("Custom gives the first finder of the nest a right to the honey and to cut down the tree ")
October 19, 1860 (" I can easily find in countless numbers in our forests, frequently in the third succession, the stumps of the oaks that were cut near the end of the last century. Perhaps I can recover thus generally the oak woods of the beginning of the last century." )October 20, 1860 ("[At Hubbard's wood] the very oldest evidences of a tree are a hollow three or four feet across, - the grave of an oak that was cut or died eighty or a hundred years ago there.")
November 1, 1860 ("Measure some pine stumps on Tommy Wheeler's land, about that now frosty hollow, cut ... four years ago. One, having 164 rings, sprang up at least one hundred and sixty-eight years ago, or about the year 1692, or fifty-seven years after the settlement, 1635")
November 2, 1860 (Wetherbee's old oak lot)
November 5, 1860 (Blood's oak lot.)
November 10, 1860 (Inches Wood)
November 12, 1851 ("Write often, write upon a thousand themes.")
November 13, 1860 ("A white birch (Betula alba) west edge of Trillium Wood, two feet seven inches circumference at three feet")
November 14, 1860 ("The red maple on south edge of Trillium Wood is six feet three inches in circumference at three feet")
November 20, 1857 ("High wind in the night, shaking the house, apparently from the northwest")
November 25, 1857 ("Returning, I see a fox run across the road in the twilight from Potter’s into Richardson’s woods. He is on a canter, but I see the whitish tip of his tail. I feel a certain respect for him, because, though so large, he still maintains himself free and wild in our midst")
December 1, 1860 ("Measure a great red maple near the south end of E. Hubbard's swamp, dividing in two at the ground, the largest trunk 7 feet and 10 inches at three feet")
December 3, 1855 ("I see one or two more large oaks in E. Hubbard’s wood lying high on stumps, waiting for snow to be removed. I miss them as surely and with the same feeling that I do the old inhabitants out of the village street.")
December 11, 1854 ("It is but mid-afternoon when I see the sun setting far through the woods, and there is that peculiar clear vitreous greenish sky in the west, as it were a molten gem”)
December 13, 1859 ("My first true winter walk is perhaps that which I take on the river, or where I cannot go in the summer.")
December 14. 1851 ("There is a beautifully pure greenish-blue sky under the clouds now in the southwest just before sunset."
December 17, 1851 ("Improve every opportunity to express yourself in writing, as if it were your last.")
December 20, 1854 ("The sky in the eastern horizon has that same greenish-vitreous, gem-like appearance which it has at sundown, as if it were of perfectly clear glass, —with the green tint of a large mass of glass.")
December 23, 1850 ("The surface of the snow is wont to be in waves like billows of the ocean")
December 24, 1856 ("Do not see a track of any animal till returning near the Well Meadow Field, where many foxes, one of whom I have a glimpse of, had been coursing back and forth in the path and near it for three quarters of a mile. They had made quite a path.")
December 27, 1853 ("The snow blows like spray, fifteen feet high, across the fields, while the wind roars in the trees as in the rigging of a vessel. It is altogether like the ocean in a storm")
January 2, 1856 ("I see, near the back road and railroad, a small flock of eight snow buntings feeding on the the seeds of the pigweed.”)
January 6, 1856 ("Now, at 4.15, the blue shadows are very distinct on the snow-banks.”)
January 9, 1859 ("The surface of the snow is in great waves whose ridges run from east to west, about a rod apart, or generally less, — say ten feet, — low and gentle swells")
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. The whole cope of heaven seen at once is never so elysian. Windows to heaven, the heavenward windows of the earth.")
January 15, 1856 ("A bright day, not cold. I can comfortably walk without gloves, yet my shadow is a most celestial blue.")
January 17, 1852 (“In proportion as I have celestial thoughts, is the necessity for me to be out and behold the western sky sunset these winter days. . . .Those western vistas through clouds to the sky show the clearest heavens, clearer and more elysian than if the whole sky is comparatively free from clouds.”)
January 18, 1856 ("Clear and bright, yet I see the blue shadows on the snow at Walden. . . .I am in raptures at my own shadow . . . Our very shadows are no longer black, but a celestial blue.")
January 15, 1856 ("A bright day, not cold. I can comfortably walk without gloves, yet my shadow is a most celestial blue.")
January 17, 1852 (“In proportion as I have celestial thoughts, is the necessity for me to be out and behold the western sky sunset these winter days. . . .Those western vistas through clouds to the sky show the clearest heavens, clearer and more elysian than if the whole sky is comparatively free from clouds.”)
January 18, 1856 ("Clear and bright, yet I see the blue shadows on the snow at Walden. . . .I am in raptures at my own shadow . . . Our very shadows are no longer black, but a celestial blue.")
January 19, 1855 (“At noon it is still a driving snow-storm, and a little flock of redpolls is busily picking the seeds of the pigweed in the garden.”)
January 21, 1857 ("It is remarkable how many tracks of foxes you will see quite near the village, where they have been in the night, and yet a regular walker will not glimpse one oftener than once in eight or ten years.”)
January 21, 1857 ("It is remarkable how many tracks of foxes you will see quite near the village, where they have been in the night, and yet a regular walker will not glimpse one oftener than once in eight or ten years.”)
January 22, 1852 ("I love to look at Ebby Hubbard's oaks and pines on the hillside from Brister's Hill. Am thankful that there is one old miser who will not sell nor cut his woods. ... It concerns us all whether these proprietors choose to cut down all the woods this winter or not")
February 1, 1855 ("[The river] is now one uninterrupted level white blanket of snow quite to the shore on every side.")
February 1, 1856 ("It has been what is called “an old-fashioned winter.”")
February 2, 1859 ("I see Peter Hutchinson cutting down a large red oak on A. Heywood’s hillside, west of the former’s house.")
February 2, 1860 ("And as we were kindling a fire on the pond by the side of the island, we saw the fox himself at the inlet of the river. He was busily examining along the sides of the pond by the button-bushes and willows, smelling in the snow.")
February 3, 1859 (“Most that is first written on any subject is a mere groping after it, mere rubble-stone and foundation. It is only when many observations of different periods have been brought together that [the writer] begins to grasp his subject and can make one pertinent and just observation.”)
February 3, 1856 (“The wind whistles round the northwest corner of the house and penetrates every crevice and consumes the wood in the stoves, — soon blows it all away. An armful goes but little way. Such a day makes a great hole in the wood-pile.”)
February 4, 1852 ("Now the white pine are a misty blue; anon a lively, silvery light plays on them, and they seem to erect themselves unusually; . . . The sun loves to nestle in the boughs of the pine and pass rays through them. ")
February 5, 1854 ("Near the bathing-place, came across a fox's track, which I think was made last night or since. The tracks were about two inches long, or a little less, by one and a half wide")
February 6, 1854 ("Crossing Walden where the snow has fallen quite level, I perceive that my shadow is a delicate or transparent blue .")
February 8, 1860 ("About an old boat frozen in, I see a great many little gyrinus-shaped bugs swimming about in the water above the ice")
February 9, 1851 ("Though the days are much longer, the cold sets in stronger than ever. The rivers and meadows are frozen. It is midwinter.")February 9, 1851 ("It is easier to get about the country than at any other season.")
February 9, 1855 ("Tree sparrows, two or three only at once, come into the yard, the first I have distinguished this winter. I was so sure this storm would bring snowbirds into the yard that I went to the window at ten to look for them, and there they were.")
February 9, 1856 ("How much the northwest wind prevails in the winter! Almost all our storms come from that quarter, and the ridges of snow-drifts run that way.")
February 11, 1855 (“Smith’s thermometer early this morning at -22°; ours at 8 A. M. -10°.”)
February 11, 1856 ("It will indicate what steady cold weather we have had to say that the lodging snow of January 13th, though it did not lodge remarkably, has not yet completely melted off the sturdy trunks of large trees.")
February 11, 1858 ("11° and windy. I think it is the coldest day of this winter.")
February 13, 1852 (“Talking with Rice this afternoon about the bees which I discovered the other day, he told me something about his bee-hunting.”)
February 13, 1853 ("I am called to window to see a dense flock of snowbirdson and under the pigweed in the garden .")
February 13, 1853 ("They come with the storm, the falling and driving snow.”)
February 13, 1856 (“Grew cold again last night, with high wind. . . . I think a high wind commonly follows rain or a thaw in winter.”)
February 13, 1859 ("Winter comes to make walking possible where there was no walking in summer.")
February 13, 1853 ("They come with the storm, the falling and driving snow.”)
February 13, 1856 (“Grew cold again last night, with high wind. . . . I think a high wind commonly follows rain or a thaw in winter.”)
February 13, 1859 ("Winter comes to make walking possible where there was no walking in summer.")
February 17, 1852 ("Perhaps the peculiarity of those western vistas was partly owing to the shortness of the days, when we naturally look to the heavens and make the most of the little light, when we live an arctic life.")
February 17, 1860 ("Cold and northwest wind, drifting the snow. . . .thermometer 14º.")
February 19, 1854 ("I incline to walk now in swamps and on the river and ponds, where I cannot walk in summer.")
February 19, 1854 ("I think it was about a week ago that I saw some dead honey-bees on the snow.")
February 25, 1856 (“As I stand there, see that they have just felled my bee tree, the hemlock. The chopper even now stands at its foot.”)
February 19, 1854 ("I incline to walk now in swamps and on the river and ponds, where I cannot walk in summer.")
February 19, 1854 ("I think it was about a week ago that I saw some dead honey-bees on the snow.")
February 25, 1856 (“As I stand there, see that they have just felled my bee tree, the hemlock. The chopper even now stands at its foot.”)
February 25, 1860 ("I noticed yesterday the first conspicuous silvery sheen from the needles of the white pine waving in the wind.")
February 26, 1860 ("Cold and strong northwest wind this and yesterday.")
February 28. 1860 ("Looking from Hubbard's Bridge, I see a great water-bug even on the river, so forward is the season.")
February 29, 1852 (“High winds last night and this morning. The house shakes, and the beds and tables rock.”)
March 2, 1860 ("I see a row of white pines, too, waving and reflecting their silvery light.")
March 4, 1852 (" I cut my initials on the bee tree”)
March 11, 1852 (The woods I walked in in my youth are cut off. Is it not time that I ceased to sing?")
March 18, 1856 ("Here they are, in the first open and smooth water, governed by the altitude of the sun")
March 21, 1859 (“That fine silvery light reflected from its needles (perhaps their undersides) incessantly in motion.”)
March 21, 1859 ("I see several white pine cones in the path by Wheildon's which appear to have fallen in the late strong winds, but perhaps the ice in the winter took them off. Others still hold on.")
February 26, 1860 ("Cold and strong northwest wind this and yesterday.")
February 28. 1860 ("Looking from Hubbard's Bridge, I see a great water-bug even on the river, so forward is the season.")
February 29, 1852 (“High winds last night and this morning. The house shakes, and the beds and tables rock.”)
March 2, 1860 ("I see a row of white pines, too, waving and reflecting their silvery light.")
March 4, 1852 (" I cut my initials on the bee tree”)
March 11, 1852 (The woods I walked in in my youth are cut off. Is it not time that I ceased to sing?")
March 18, 1856 ("Here they are, in the first open and smooth water, governed by the altitude of the sun")
March 21, 1859 (“That fine silvery light reflected from its needles (perhaps their undersides) incessantly in motion.”)
March 21, 1859 ("I see several white pine cones in the path by Wheildon's which appear to have fallen in the late strong winds, but perhaps the ice in the winter took them off. Others still hold on.")
March 28, 1857 (“Often I can give the truest and most interesting account of any adventure I have had after years have elapsed, for then I am not confused, only the most significant facts surviving in my memory. Indeed, all that continues to interest me after such a lapse of time is sure to be pertinent, and I may safely record all that I remember ”)
February 19, 2022
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, February 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
tinyurl.com/HDT10Feb
No comments:
Post a Comment