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 northerly wind
roaring in the woods to-day
reminds me of March.
The bright-blue water
here and there between the ice
and on the meadow.
I am that rock by
the pond-side affected by
each natural sound.
February 20, 2012
*
If I were to discover
that a certain kind of stone
by the pond-shore was affected,
say partially disintegrated,
by a particular natural sound,
as of a bird or insect,
I see that one
could not be completely described
without describing the other.
I am that rock by the pond-side.
I notice a very pale pink reflection from snowy roofs and sides of white houses at sunrise. So both the pink and the green are phenomena of the morning. February 20, 1860
The last two or three days have been among the coldest in the winter, though not so cold as a few weeks ago. February 20, 1852
First the snow fell deep and level on the 18th, then, the 19th, came high wind. February 20, 1860
This morning the ground is once more covered about one inch deep. February 20, 1857
Snows all day. The most wintry day of the winter; yet not more than three inches on a level is fallen. February 20, 1858
A strong wind drying the earth which has been so very wet . . . The northerly wind blows me along, and when I get to the cut I hear it roaring in the woods, all reminding me of March, March. February 20, 1855
It is decided March weather, and I see from my window the bright-blue water here and there between the ice and on the meadow. February 20, 1855
We see the tracks of mice on the snow in the woods, or once in a year one glances by like a flash through the grass or ice at our feet, and that is for the most part all that we see of them. February 20, 1855
I know that we have here in Concord are at least twenty-one and perhaps twenty-six quadrupeds. . . . Some, though numerous, are rarely seen, as the wild mice and moles. Others are very rare, like the otter and raccoon. February 20, 1855
See a broad and distinct otter-trail, made last night or yesterday. February 20, 1856
The rock by the [Flint's] pond is remarkable for its umbilicaria. February 20, 1852
I saw a mole [run] so close to the ground and under rather than over anything, . . . without making any noise. No wonder that we so rarely see these animals, though their tracks are so common. . . . The mole goes behind and beneath, rather than before and above. February 20, 1852
Skate to Fair Haven Pond. Make a fire on the south side of the pond, using canoe birch bark and oak leaves for kindlings. . . .The occasional loud snapping of the fire is exhilarating. February 20, 1854
We skate home in the dusk, with an odor of smoke in our clothes. February 20, 1854
Minott always sits in the corner behind the door, close to the stove, with commonly the cat by his side, often in his lap. Often he sits with his hat on. February 20, 1857
What is the relation between a bird and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, perchance, it is more charming and significant than to any else? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one was made for the other. It is a natural fact February 20, 1857
If I were to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond-shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a particular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that one could not be completely described without describing the other. February 20, 1857
I am that rock by the pond-side. February 20, 1857
What is hope, what is expectation, but a seed-time whose harvest cannot fail, an irresistible expedition of the mind, at length to be victorious ? February 20, 1857
A friend tells all with a look, a tone, a gesture, a presence, a friendliness. He is present when absent. February 20, 1859
The rain ceases, and it clears up at 5 P. M. It is a warm west wind and a remarkably soft sky, like plush; perhaps a lingering moisture there. What a revelation the blue and the bright tints in the west again, after the storm and darkness! February 20, 1859
I am that rock by the pond-side. February 20, 1857
What is hope, what is expectation, but a seed-time whose harvest cannot fail, an irresistible expedition of the mind, at length to be victorious ? February 20, 1857
A friend tells all with a look, a tone, a gesture, a presence, a friendliness. He is present when absent. February 20, 1859
The rain ceases, and it clears up at 5 P. M. It is a warm west wind and a remarkably soft sky, like plush; perhaps a lingering moisture there. What a revelation the blue and the bright tints in the west again, after the storm and darkness! February 20, 1859
*****
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Otter
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Lesser Redpoll
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I am a rock
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Blue Waters in Spring
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Belongs to Spring
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of Spring
The Maine Woods ("Daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it-rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?”)
And for the first time
I see the water looking
blue on the meadows.
March 5, 1854
The first sight of the
blue water in the spring is
exhilarating.
April 5, 1856
April 16, 1855 ("At Flint’s, sitting on the rock.")
May 12, 1857 (“He is a brother poet, this small gray bird (or bard), whose muse inspires mine. . . .One with the rocks and with us.”)
June 13, 1852 ("All things in this world must be seen with the morning dew on them, must be seen with youthful, early-opened, hopeful eyes")
July 3, 1857 ("Minott was sitting in his shed as usual, while his handsome pullets were perched on the wood within two feet of him. ")June 13, 1852 ("All things in this world must be seen with the morning dew on them, must be seen with youthful, early-opened, hopeful eyes")
July 16 1851 ("In youth, before I lost any of my senses, I can remember that I was all alive, and inhabited my body with inexpressible satisfaction; both its weariness and its refreshment were sweet to me ”)
October 23, 1852 ("My friend is one whom I meet, who takes me for what I am.")August 8, 1852 ("I only know myself as a human entity, the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and affections”)
December 11, 1855 ("My body is all sentient. As I go here or there, I am tickled by this or that I come in contact with, as if I touched the wires of a battery.”)
December 21, 1851 ("Friendship is the unspeakable joy and blessing that results to two or more individuals who from constitution sympathize; and . . . will know each other through thick and thin.")
December 11, 1855 ("My body is all sentient. As I go here or there, I am tickled by this or that I come in contact with, as if I touched the wires of a battery.”)
December 21, 1851 ("Friendship is the unspeakable joy and blessing that results to two or more individuals who from constitution sympathize; and . . . will know each other through thick and thin.")
January 7, 1851 ("The life, the joy, that is in blue sky after a storm! There is no account of the blue sky in history. I must live above all in the present.")
January 8, 1857 ("Minott says he has lived where he now does as much as sixty years. He has not been up in town for three years, on account of his rheumatism")
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 30, 1854 ("How retired an otter manages to live! He grows to be four feet long without any mortal getting a glimpse of him.”)
January 8, 1857 ("Minott says he has lived where he now does as much as sixty years. He has not been up in town for three years, on account of his rheumatism")
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 30, 1854 ("How retired an otter manages to live! He grows to be four feet long without any mortal getting a glimpse of him.”)
January 31, 1859 ("Also 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. . . .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.")
February 6, 1855 ("The coldest morning this winter. Our thermometer stands at -14° at 9 A.M")
February 7, 1854 ("This morning was one of the coldest in the winter.")
February 7, 1854 ("Made a fire on the snow-covered ice half a mile below Ball's Hill -- a large warm fire, whose flame went up straight, there being no wind, and without smoke. . . .We had often sailed over this very spot..”)
February 7, 1855 ("The coldest night for a long, long time.")
February 7, 1855 ("Thermometer at about 7.30 A. M. gone into the bulb, -19° at least. The cold has stopped the clock.")
February 8, 1851 ("Coldest day yet; – 22 ° at least (all we can read ) , at 8 A. M. , and , (so far) as I can learn, not above -6 ° all day.")
February 11, 1858 ("11° and windy. I think it is the coldest day of this winter.")
February 19, 1857 ("A man cannot be said to succeed in this life who does not satisfy one friend.")
February 19, 1858 ("Coldest morning this winter by our thermometer, -3° at 7.30.")
February 6, 1855 ("The coldest morning this winter. Our thermometer stands at -14° at 9 A.M")
February 7, 1854 ("This morning was one of the coldest in the winter.")
February 7, 1854 ("Made a fire on the snow-covered ice half a mile below Ball's Hill -- a large warm fire, whose flame went up straight, there being no wind, and without smoke. . . .We had often sailed over this very spot..”)
February 7, 1855 ("The coldest night for a long, long time.")
February 7, 1855 ("Thermometer at about 7.30 A. M. gone into the bulb, -19° at least. The cold has stopped the clock.")
February 8, 1851 ("Coldest day yet; – 22 ° at least (all we can read ) , at 8 A. M. , and , (so far) as I can learn, not above -6 ° all day.")
February 11, 1858 ("11° and windy. I think it is the coldest day of this winter.")
February 19, 1857 ("A man cannot be said to succeed in this life who does not satisfy one friend.")
February 19, 1858 ("Coldest morning this winter by our thermometer, -3° at 7.30.")
February 20, 2015
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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