A year is made up of
a certain series and number
of sensations and thoughts
which have their language in nature.
Henry Thoreau, June 6, 1857
Now the river is
one level white blanket of
snow quite to each shore.
February 1, 1855
The scream of the jay
wholly without sentiment
a true winter sound.
February 2, 1854
The skater sails midst
a moving world of snow-steam
as high as his knees.
February 3, 1855
The tracks of a mink
in shallow snow along the
edge of the river.
February 4, 1854
Silvery-lighted boughs
and shadowy intervals
belong to one tree.
February 5, 1852
Though on the back track
I draw nearer to the fox.
My thoughts grow foxy.
February 5, 1854
A mistiness makes
the woods look denser darker
and more primitive.
February 6, 1852
Single trees distinct
and black on the hill under
dull mist-covered sky.
February 7, 1856
First crust to walk on.
Now no difference between
rivers ponds and fields.
February 8, 1852
Though days are longer
cold sets in ever stronger.
It is midwinter.
February 9, 1851
Go across Walden
bright sunlight on pure white snow –
my shadow is blue.
February 10, 1855
Willows shed pollen
how many aeons before
man was created?
February 11, 1854
Ice forced up on edge
like mirrors reflects the sun.
A fleet of ice boats.
February 12, 1851
The scream of a jay.
Cold hard tense frozen music
like the winter sky.
February 12 , 1854
Sunlight thawing snow
strangely excites a springlike
melting in my thoughts.
February 12, 1856
Return on green ice
to walk amid purple clouds
of the sunset sky.
February 12, 1860
They come with the storm
the falling and driving snow–
a flock of snowbirds.
February 13, 1853
We are made to love
river and meadow, as wind
to ripple water.
The steady rushing
musical sound of rain soaks
into my spirit.
February 15, 1855
Inhale clear bright air
this cold windy afternoon –
the sky undimmed blue.
February 16, 1852
First springlike note heard
at the stone bridge from the hill
in the misty air.
February 17, 1855
A cloud in the west
changes the whole character
of the afternoon.
February 18, 1860
I tend to walk where
I cannot walk in summer.
Swamps river and ponds.
February 19, 1854
Who placed us with eyes
between microscopic and
telescopic worlds?
February 19, 1854
The northerly wind
roaring in the woods to-day
reminds me of March.
February 20, 1855
In new fallen snow
you cannot walk too early
to sense novelty.
February 21, 1854
Sheltered from the wind
I feel new life in Nature –
season’s warmer sun.
February 21, 1855
Chickadee passes
the news through all the forest –
spring is approaching.
February 21, 1855
Snow on the mountains
now a silver rim to this
basin of the world.
February 21, 1855
Such remarkably
pleasant weather – I listen
for the first bluebird.
February 22, 1855
Raw westerly wind
but deliciously warm now
in sheltered places.
February 22, 1855
Fine snow drives along
like steam curling from a roof.
I see the drifts form.
February 23, 1854
Though snow covers ground
the quality of the air
reminds me of spring.
February 24, 1852
Observe the poplar's
swollen buds and the brightness
of the willow's bark.
February 24, 1852
Waves on the meadows.
Large cakes of ice blown up-stream
against Hubbard’s Bridge.
February 25, 1851
Morning snow turns to
fine freezing rain with a glaze
changing to pure rain.
February 26, 1854
Bright and immortal
the now swollen stream has burst
its icy fetters.
February 27, 1852
The westering sun
reflected from their edges
makes them shine finely.
February 28, 1855
From Pine Hill the snow-
crust shines in the sun as far
as the eye can reach.
“The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.”
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Days
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
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