. Through the year with Thoreau . e bent pitch pines made me think of ramsor elephants heads, ready to butt you. In particularplaces, standing on their snowiest side, the woodswere incredibly fair, white as alabaster. Indeed, theyoung pines reminded you of the purest statuary,and the stately full-grown ones towering aroundaffected you as if you stood in a titanic sculptorsstudio, so purely and delicately white, transmittingthe light, their dark trunks all concealed. And inmany places, where the snow lay on withered oakleaves between you and the light, various delicatefawn-colored and cinnamon
. Through the year with Thoreau . e bent pitch pines made me think of ramsor elephants heads, ready to butt you. In particularplaces, standing on their snowiest side, the woodswere incredibly fair, white as alabaster. Indeed, theyoung pines reminded you of the purest statuary,and the stately full-grown ones towering aroundaffected you as if you stood in a titanic sculptorsstudio, so purely and delicately white, transmittingthe light, their dark trunks all concealed. And inmany places, where the snow lay on withered oakleaves between you and the light, various delicatefawn-colored and cinnamon tints, blending withthe white, still enhanced the beauty. I doubt if I can convey an ideal of the appearanceof the woods yesterday, as you stood in their midstand looked round on their boughs and twigs laden This is Thoreaus conclusion after more than ten pages of attempteddescription of the beauty of Concord woods under their burden of to say, no photograph, or series of photographs, can be moresuccessful. H. W. C 127 ] with snow. It seemed as if there could have beennone left to reach the ground. These countless zig-zag white arms crossing each other at every possibleangle completely closed up the view, like a light driftwithin three or four rods on every side. The win-triest prospect imaginable. Journal, vii, 122, 123, 128. THE BROOK IN WINTER Jantjaky 12, 1855. Perhaps what most moves usin winter is some reminiscence of far-off we leap by the side of the open brooks! Whatbeauty in the running brooks! What hfe! Whatsociety! The cold is merely superficial; it is summerstill at the core, far, far within. Journal, vii, 112. January 31, 1852. I observed this afternoon, onthe Turnpike, that where it drifts over the edge of abrook or a ditch, the snow being damp as it falls,what does not adhere to the sharp edge of the driftfalls on the dead weeds and shrubs and forms adrapery like a napkin or a white tablecloth hangingdown with folds and tassels or fr
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