Thoreau's Journal: 27-Jan-1860

As I go along the edge of Hubbard’s Wood, on the ice, it is very warm in the sun—and calm there. There are certain spots I could name, by hill and wood sides, which are always thus sunny and warm in fair weather, and have been, for aught I know, since the world was made. What a distinction they enjoy!

How many memorable localities in a river walk! Here is the warm wood-side; next, the good fishing bay; and next, where the old settler was drowned when crossing on the ice a hundred years ago. It is all storied.

I occasionally hear a musquash plunge under the ice next the shore.

These winter days I occasionally hear the note of a goldfinch, or maybe a redpoll, unseen, passing high overhead.

When you think that your walk is profitless and a failure, and you can hardly persuade yourself not to return, it is on the point of being a success, for then you are in that subdued and knocking mood to which Nature never fails to open.


pilgrimchick said...

I don't think that any nature-oriented walk could be a "failure." Each walk may have different attractions and advantages given the time of year, but none could be seen as a "failure."

c-franklin said...

I just came across this blog while looking for editions of Thoreau's complete journal. It is a joy to find. (And isn't moving through blog space like a walk through that second nature that humans add to the original we discover or ignore?)

Thoreau seems to feel every place is storied if we will open ourselves to its occasions. This entry is, I think, about letting go of our purposes (our ego, perhaps) long enough to let the world disclose itself on its own ground.

Eric said...

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