Thoreau for your Tuesday…

Going up the hill through Stow’s young oak woodland, I listen to the sharp,dry rustle of the withered oak leaves.This is the voice of the wood now…It sounds like the roar of the sea,and is enlivening and inspiriting like that,suggesting how all the land is sea-coast to the aerial ocean.It  is remarkable how universal these grand murmurs are…which yet to the ear and in their origin are essentially one voice,the earth voice…The earth is our ship,and this is the sound of the wind in her rigging as we sail.January 2,1859.



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