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.
1 comment:
I think that my life can be put into the terms of Thoreau's walks. In my life, when I least expect it, good things come my way. Nature, if you will, grabs a hold of me and opens my eyes. It's like when I finally give up, things get better. For me, it becomes a personal religious matter. And I can't help but think that thorough was conflicted in a lot of ways. And that he was always seeking God or some higher being. To me, it seems that when I finally stop trying to control everything in my life, everything falls into place. God brings me peace. Thoreau was always thirsting for knowledge. He wanted to know more about life. He was as curious a man as ever. I think he was seeking God.
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