DECEMBER 



21 



In winter when there are no flowers, and leaves 

 are rare, even large buds are interesting and some- 

 what exciting. I go a-budding like a partridge. 

 I am always attracted at this season by the buds of 

 the swamp pink, the poplars, and the sweet gale. 



THOREAU: Winter. 



Whichever side you walk in the woods the par- 

 tridge bursts away on whirring wings, jarring the 

 snow from the dry leaves and twigs on high, 

 which comes sifting down in the sunbeams like 

 golden dust, for this brave bird is not to be scared 

 by winter. 



THOREAU: Walden. 



22 



Drink deep, or be careful how you taste this 

 December vintage. The first sip may chill, but a 

 full draught warms and invigorates. . . . The sun- 

 beams are welcome now. They seem like pure 

 electricity, like friendly and recuperating light- 

 ning. Are we led to think electricity abounds 

 only in summer when we see in the storm-clouds, 

 as it were, the veins and ore-beds of it ? I imagine 

 it is equally abundant in winter, and more equable 

 and better tempered. Who ever breasted a snow- 

 storm without being excited and exhilarated, as if 

 this meteor had come charged with latent auroras 

 of the North, as it doubtless has? It is like being 

 pelted with sparks from a battery. 



BURROUGHS: Winter Sunshine. 



