Chapter 93 Old Resident; Winter Visitor - 5

When the snow was at its deepest, the half-mile stretch from the highway to my house appeared to be a dotted line with twists and turns, with large gaps between every two points.For a week of calm weather, I always took the same number of steps, the same size of stride, walking carefully, as accurate as a two-footed compasses, always in the deep footprints of my own,— —Winter confines us to such routes,—but these footprints often reflect the blue of the sky.In fact, none of the weather has fatally prevented me from walking, or going out, for I have often walked eight or ten miles in the deepest snow, just to keep my promise, and a beech tree, Or a boxwood, or an old acquaintance in the pine forest, made an appointment when the ice and snow weighed down their limbs, and the tops were sharper, and the pines looked like hemlocks; sometimes, I Trekking through two feet of snow to the top of the highest mountain, I had to shake a big cloud of snow off my head with every step; It is known that Orion hides at home for the winter.One afternoon, I observed with interest a striped owl (Strixnebulosa), which sat on a dead branch below a white pine tree, close to the trunk, and in broad daylight, I stood less than a Where the pole is, it can hear the sound of my feet on the snow when I move, but it can't see me.I made a loud noise, and it stretched its neck, puffed up its neck feathers, and opened its eyes wide; but immediately it closed its eyelids again, and began to nod its head and doze off.After observing like this for half an hour, I myself became drowsy, and it fell asleep with half-opened eyes, really like a cat, it is a cat's winged brother.Between the eyelids, it opened only a small slit, so that it maintained a peninsula-shaped relationship with me; thus, looking at me from its dream land, it tried to know who I was, which vague object, or A speck of dust in its eye is obscuring its vision.At last, maybe it was the louder sound, or maybe I was getting closer to it, which made it uneasy, and staggered around on the branch, as if its dream was disturbed, it didn't take it seriously; and when it spread its wings and took off , soaring through the pine woods, its wings spread out unexpectedly wide, but I could not hear a sound.In this way, it seems that it is not using sight, but feeling, lingering among the pine branches, as if its feathers have feelings, in the dark, it found a new branch, flew up, and perched on it. Page, where it could quietly await the dawn of his day.

When I passed the railway embankment that ran through the prairie, I met a piercing gust of wind, for the wind blows more freely than anywhere; and when the frost beat my left cheek, Even though I am a heathen, I blow my right cheek to it too.The carriage road from Brister Hill wasn't much better.For I was still going to the country, like a friendly Indian, when the broad fields were covered with snow between the walls on either side of the Walden Road, and the footsteps would be seen in less than half an hour after the passers-by had passed. gone.When I came back, a new snowstorm blew, which made me struggle inside. The busy northwest wind deposited silvery snowflakes at a big bend in the road, and I couldn't even see the footprints of a rabbit. , the tiny footprint of a field mouse is even more impossible to see.Yet, even in the middle of winter, I have seen warm, soft swamps where the grass and skunk cabbage are still green, and some hardy birds hold on, waiting for the return of spring.

Sometimes, in spite of the snow, I come back from a walk and find the deep footprints of the woodcutter passing through my door, and on the stove I see the chips he has sharpened aimlessly, and the room smells of his pipe.Or on a Sunday afternoon, if I happen to be at home, I hear the sound of a Sisso treading on the snow, a long-faced farmer who came all the way through the woods to talk; He wears not a professor's gown, but a workman's dress; he quotes the morals of Church or State as if he were pulling a cartload of manure from a stable.We spoke of a time of simplicity and savagery, when men sat around a great fire in a refreshingly cold climate, and their heads were clear; and if there was no other fruit to eat, we tried Try nuts that squirrels have long since stopped eating, as the ones with the hardest shells may be empty inside.

It was a poet who came to my house from the furthest distance, through the deepest snow and the blackest storm.Even a farmer, a hunter, a soldier or a reporter, even a philosopher may be too frightened to come, but nothing can stop a poet who starts from purely loving motives.Who can foretell his coming and going?His job is to get him out when the doctors are asleep.We made the little cabin laugh out loud, and murmured sober conversations to make up for the long silence of Walden Vale.By comparison, Broadway also seemed silent and desolate.After considerable intervals, there was frequent laughter, either at a remark just uttered or at a joke about to be told.While drinking gruel, we talked about many "new" philosophies of life. This bowl of gruel is not only suitable for guests, but also suitable for sober philosophical discussions.