Perhaps what moves us in winter is some reminiscence of far-off summer….What beauty in the running brooks !What life! What the cold is merely superficial; it is summer still at the core, the warmth of the sun on our backs.I hear faintly the cawing of a crow, far away, echoing from some unseen wood-side, as if deadened by the springlike vapor which the sun is drawing from the ground…What a delicious sound! It is not merely crow calling to crow,for it speaks to me too. I am part of one great creature with him; if he has voice, I have ears. I can hear when he calls, and have engaged not to shoot nor stone him if he will caw to me each spring. January 12,1855.
pic from antiqueshoppefl.com