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
This is the season of the fall
when the leaves are whirled through the air
like flocks of birds,
the season of birch spangles,
when you see afar a few clear-yellow leaves
left on the tops of the birches.
Now young black birches
amid the dense evergreens
are clear pale yellow.
October 2.
The ferns decaying
sour scent reminds me of
the season, past years.
October 2, 1859
Cooler, autumnal.
You incline to sit in a
sunny sheltered place.
Birds seem to delight
in the warm hazy light these
first fine days of fall.
October 5.
Surprised amid these
withered thistles to see one
freshly in flower.
October 5, 1856
The jay's shrill note is
more distinct of late about
the edges of the woods.
October 7.
Indian-summer.
The sun comes out and lights up
the mellowing year.
October 7, 1852
Maples by the shore
extending their red banners
over the water.
The penetrating
memorable scent of ripe
grapes under my feet.
October 10.
You make a great noise
walking in the woods now.
The new-fallen leaves.
October 10, 1851
In the woods I hear
a metallic clanging sound,
the note of the jay.
October 12.
Last night's fallen leaves
now lie thick on the water,
concealing the shore.
October 12, 1855
The leafless maples
on the edge of the meadow
look like wisps of smoke.
October 13.
Frost strips the maples.
Their leaves now strew the swamp floor
and conceal the pools.
October 13 1860
With severe frosts
trees fall before changing or
change and fall early.
The first snow falling.
Large flakes begin to whiten
our thoughts for winter.
October 16.
How evenly the
freshly fallen pine-needles
are spread on the ground!
October 16, 1855
To sit in the rain
under an apple tree trunk
studying the bark.
In sun and clear air
bare ashy branches even
sparkle like silver.
October 19.
On this mountain-top
low and spreading red oak
the prevailing tree.
October 19, 1854
The coldest day yet,
finger-cold as I come home.
Hands find their pocket.
October 21.
Cold and blustering.
It is the breath of winter
encamped not far north.
October 21, 1859
Now leaves rustle as
you walk through them in the woods.
Many fell last night.
A second blooming.
The Viola pedata
flowers bring back spring.
October 23.
Flowers blossoming,
hylodes peeping, birds singing
like a second spring.
October 23, 1853
Countless downy seeds
of the goldenrods, so fine
we do not notice.
Half fallen leaves
in great circles under trees
reflecting their light.
October 25.
A calm afternoon
reflected in the water.
Indian summer.
October 25, 1854
As woods grow silent
we attend to the cheerful
notes of chickadees.
October 26, 1854
October morning
I wake and find it snowing
unexpectedly.
October 27, 1851
October 28.
I hear no sound but
rustling of the withered leaves
and roar of the wind.
October 28, 1852
The gooseberry leaves
in our garden and in fields
are now fresh scarlet.
The fall has ended.
The landscape prepared for winter –
this is November.
October 31.
Frosts in the mornings
open window for a week –
Indian summer.
“The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign
some office to each day
some office to each day
which, summed up, would be
the history of the year.”
the history of the year.”
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, October 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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