A Book of the Seasons: January Moonlight

 

What are heat and cold,

day and night, sun, moon,

and stars to us?

Henry Thoreau, January 26, 1852

The invisible moon

gives light through the thickest of

a driving snow-storm.

January 7, 1852

January 1. Moon little more than half full. Not a cloud in the sky. The stars dazzlingly bright. It is a remarkably warm night for the season, the ground almost entirely bare . . . The white pines, now seen against the moon, with their single foliage, look thin . . . 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. January 1, 1852

January 7.  Later this evening, walking to Lincoln to lecture in a driving snow-storm, the invisible moon gives light through the thickest of it. January 7, 1852

January 8.  We have a fine moonlight evening after, and as by day I have noticed that the sunlight reflected from this moist snow had more glitter and dazzle to it than when the snow was dry, so now I am struck by the brighter sheen from the snow in the moonlight. All the impurities in the road are lost sight of, and the melting snow shines like frostwork. When returning from Walden at sunset, the only cloud we saw was a small purplish one, exactly conforming to the outline of Wachusett, — which it concealed, — as if on that mountain only the universal moisture was at that moment condensed.  January 8, 1860

January 19.  As I come home through the village at 8.15 P. M., by a bright moonlight, the moon nearly full and not more than 18° from the zenith, the wind northwest, but not strong, and the air pretty cold, I see the melon-rind arrangement of the clouds on a larger scale and more distinct than ever before. January 19, 1856

January 21. A fine, still, warm moonlight evening. We have had one or two already. Moon not yet full. . . . I wish to hear the silence of the night, for the silence is something positive and to be heard. I cannot walk with my ears covered. I must stand still and listen with open ears, far from the noises of the village, that the night may make its impression on me. A fertile and eloquent silence . . . Silence alone is worthy to be heard. Silence is of various depth and fertility, like soil. . . . As I leave the village, drawing nearer to the woods, I listen from time to time to hear the hounds of Silence baying the Moon, — to know if they are on the track of any game. If there 's no Diana in the night, what is it worth? I hark the goddess Diana. The silence rings; it is musical and thrills me. A night in which the silence was audible. I hear the unspeakable. I easily read the moral of my dreams. January 21, 1853

January 23.  And the new moon and the evening star, close together, preside over the twilight scene. January 23, 1852

January 24.  And now the crescent of the moon is seen, and her attendant star is farther off than last night. January 24, 1852

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, January 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 © 2009-2025