The seasons and all their changes are in me.

 

The seasons

and all their changes

are in me.

Now leaves are off we

notice the buds prepared for

another season.

As woods grow silent

we attend to the cheerful

notes of chickadees.

Oaks and hickories

have lost their brilliancy –

begun to be browned.

This is the season

mere mossy banks attract us –

when greenness is rare.

This is the season

when the leaves are whirled through the

air like flocks of birds –

when you see afar

a few clear-yellow leaves on

the tops of birches.

At this season we

seek to warm ourselves in the

sun as by a fire.

My moods periodical

not two days 

in my year alike.

Henry Thoreau, October 26

See also 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, As the Seasons Revolve
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Moods and Seasons of the Mind.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, October Moods

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,

The seasons and all their changes are in me.

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