At the east window

 

Sitting on this rock

wrestling with the melody

that possesses me.

The moon reflected

from the rippled surface like

a stream of dollars.

A distant piano –

the bare lichen-covered gray

rock in the moonlight.

At the east window

the clock strikes plainly ten or

eleven P.M.

Sobered by moonlight

sensing my own existence

who I am and where.

I am fitted to 

hear – my being moves in a 

sphere of melody.

zphx- 20240803

I have found all things thus far,

persons and inanimate matter, elements and seasons,

strangely adapted to my resources.

Henry Thoreau, A Week (Wednesday)

*****

May 23, 1854 ("I sat for hours on rocks and wrestled with the melody which possessed me.")

July 8, 1854 ("The moon reflected from the rippled surface like a stream of dollars.")

August 3, 1852 (" At the east window. — A temperate noon. I hear a cricket creak in the shade; also the sound of a distant piano. . . . At length the melody steals into my being . . . By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe, I am fitted to hear, my being moves in a sphere of melody.")

January 1, 1852 ("Perhaps the only thing that spoke to me on this walk was the bare, lichen-covered gray rock at the Cliff, in the moonlight, naked and almost warm as in summer.")

April 18, 1852 ("An east wind. I hear the clock strike plainly ten or eleven P.M."); 

May 3, 1852 ("The clock strikes distinctly, showing the wind is easterly. There is a grand, rich, musical echo trembling on the air long after the clock has ceased to strike, like a vast organ, filling the air with a trembling music like a flower of sound.")

August 5, 1851 ("As the twilight deepens and the moonlight is more and more bright, I begin to distinguish myself, who I am and where; as my walls contract, I become more collected and composed, and sensible of my own existence, as when a lamp is brought into a dark apartment and I see who the company are. With the coolness and the mild silvery light, I recover some sanity, my thoughts are more distinct, moderated, and tempered. Reflection is more possible . . . I am sobered by the moonlight.")

See also: 

A Book of the Seasons,, Nature is genial to man
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A body awake in the world.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I am a rock

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, At the east window

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-eastwindow