This evening for the first time
the new moon is reflected from
the frozen snow-crust.
December 2. As the stars, though spheres, present an out line of many little points of light to our eyes, like a flower of light, so I notice to-night the horns of the new moon appear split. December 2, 1853
December 5 It is a perfectly cloudless and simple winter sky. 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. December 5, 1856
December 8. A week or two ago Fair Haven Pond was frozen and the ground was still bare. Now the Pond is open and ground is covered with snow and ice. This evening for the first time the new moon is reflected from the frozen snow-crust. December 8, 1850
December 10. The nights are light on account of the snow, and, there being a moon, there is no distinct interval between the day and night. I see the sun set from the side of Nawshawtuct, and make haste to the post-office with the red sky over my shoulder. When the mail is distributed and I come forth into the street on my return, the apparently full moon has fairly commenced her reign, and I go home by her light. December 10, 1856
December 15. Looking from my window these bright moonlight rights, 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
December 23. Now the sun has quite disappeared, but the afterglow, as I may call it, apparently the reflection from the cloud beyond which the sun went down on the thick atmosphere of the horizon, is unusually bright and lasting. Long, broken clouds in the horizon, in the dun atmosphere, — as if the fires of day were still smoking there, — hang with red and golden edging . . .
Now all the clouds grow black, and I give up to-night; but unexpectedly, half an hour later when I look out, having got home, I find that the evening star is shining brightly, and, beneath all, the west horizon is glowing red . . . and I detect, just above the horizon, the narrowest imaginable white sickle of the new moon. December 23, 1851
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, December Moonlight
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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