toward the rising sun and rubbing
..Thoreau's Journal: 2-Mar-1859

As I go through Cassandra Ponds, I look round on the young oak woods still clad with rustling leaves as in winter, with a feeling as if it were their last rustle before the spring, but then I reflect how faraway still is the time when the new buds swelling will cause these leaves to fall. We thus commonly antedate the spring more than any other season, for we look forward to it with more longing. We talk about spring as at hand before the end of February, and yet it will be two good months, one sixth part of the whole year, before we can go a-maying. There may be a month of solid and uninterrupted winter yet, plenty of ice and good sleighing. We may not even see the bare ground, and hardly the water, and yet we sit down and warm our spirits annually with distant prospect of spring. As if a man were to warm his hands by stretching them toward the rising sun and rubbing them.

1 comment:

michael jameson said...

hope and faith in what we know to be true,the cold still upon us as it has been as far as our memories serve us, yet it is not the time we are in that causes us grief, we long for the spring ,the new beginning for nature and ourselves, still we disregard the time coming ,we wish it away the yearning we ignore,for we are men , and will pass through the time lying to ourselves as we do so well, wanting things now, as we have done since our youth. michael jameson oldantiqueguy@hotmail.com