Tone endears readers to writing, and Thoreau strikes the most pleasant tone of any writer I’ve read. In his essay “A Winter Walk,” he marvels at winter in a time before gas heating and electric refrigeration:
“We sleep, and at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within. The stillness of the morning is impressive. The floor creaks under our feet as we move toward the window to look abroad through some clear space over the fields.”
From the fireside you can see the snowy yard. There is HDT, standing next to you, and you’re having a one-sided conversation. Though he can speak Latin and Greek, Thoreau never talks down to you. His humility and optimism and love for the natural world make him likable, and for his charm we are likely to listen to his ideas when the vector of his story makes an unforeseen turn into philosophy. But his simple observation will do, especially when the flurries fall and he profiles, exactly, the cozy character of winter.