Thoreau for your Wednesday…

The landscape looked singularly clean and pure and dry,the air,like pure glass,being laid over the picture,the trees so tidy,and stripped of their leaves:the meadows and pastures,clothed with clean dry grass,looked as if they had been swept:ice on the water and winter in the air,but yet not a particle of snow on the ground…The leaves have made their wood,and a myriad  new withes stand up all around pointing to the sky,able to survive the cold.It is only the perennial that you see,the iron age of the year. November 25,1850.



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