Henry Thoreau, March 17, 1857
It is so long since I have heard it, that the steady,
soaking, rushing sound of the rain on the shingles is musical.
The fire needs no replenishing, and we save our fuel.
It seems like a distant forerunner of spring.
February 15, 1855
January 7. You hear (in the house) the unusual sound of the eaves running. January 7, 1860
February 1. The eaves have scarcely run at all. It has been what is called “an old-fashioned winter." February 1, 1856
February 8. The snow is soft, and the eaves begin to run as not for many weeks. February 8, 1856
February 11. It is now fairly thawing, the eaves running; and puddles stand in some places. February 11, 1856
February 12. The eaves run fast on the south side of houses, and, as usual in this state of the air, the cawing of crows at a distance. February 12, 1855
February 12.. Thawed all day yesterday and rained some what last night; clearing off this morning. Heard the eaves drop all night. The thermometer at 8.30 A. M., 42°. . . .How different the sunlight over thawing snow . . . I experience a springlike melting in my thoughts.") February 12, 1856
February 15. It is so long since I have heard it, that the steady, soaking, rushing sound of the rain on the shingles is musical. The fire needs no replenishing, and we save our fuel. It seems like a distant forerunner of spring. It is because I am allied to the elements that the sound of the rain is thus soothing to me. The sound soaks into my spirit, as the water into the earth, reminding me of the season when snow and ice will be no more, when the earth will be thawed and drink up the rain as fast as it falls. February 15, 1855
February 15. Then the gentle, spring-like rain begins, and we turn about. The sound of it pattering on the dry oak leaves . . . is just like that of wind stirring them, when first heard, but is steady and monotonous and so betrayed. February 15, 1859
February 16. I hear the eaves running before I come out, and our thermometer at 2 P. M. is 38°. The sun is most pleasantly warm on my cheek; the melting snow shines in the ruts; the cocks crow more than usual in barns; my greatcoat is an incumbrance. February 16, 1856
February 23. I have seen signs of the spring. February 23, 1857
March 21. Warm rain, April-like, the first of the season . . . This first spring rain is very agreeable. I love to hear the pattering of the drops on my umbrella, and I love also the wet scent of the umbrella. March 21, 1858
See also Signs of the Spring:
- A Change in the Air
- A Sunny Nook in Spring
- Alder and Willow Catkins Expanding
- Braided Ripples of Melting Snow Shine in the Ruts
- Bright Blue Water
- Buzzing Flies
- Ducks Afar, Sailing on the Meadow
- Frogs, and Turtles Stirring
- Greening Grasses and Sedges
- I begin to think that my wood will last.
- Insects and Worms Come Forth and are Active
- Listening for the Bluebird
- March is famous for its Winds
- Mosses Bright Green
- My Greatcoat on my Arm
- Perla-like Insects Appear
- Red Maple Sap Flows
- Ripples made by Fishes
- The Anxious Peep of the Early Robin
- The Crowing of Cocks, the Cawing of crows
- The Days have grown Sensibly Longer
- The Eaves Begin to Run
- The Gobbling of Turkeys
- The Grackle Arrives
- The Hawks of March
- The New Warmth of the Sun
- The Note of the Dark-eyed Junco Going Northward
- The Red-Wing Arrives
- The Skunk Cabbage Blooms
- The Softened Air of these Warm February Days
- The Song Sparrow Sings
- The Spring Note of the Chickadee
- The Spring Note of the Nuthatch
- The Striped Squirrel Comes Out
- The Water Bug (Gyrinus)
- Walking without Gloves
- Woodpeckers Tapping
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring;
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 © 2009-2024
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