For 35 years before his death in 1978, Hal Borland monitored the seasons' passage in his Sunday New York Times ""outdoor editorials."" Represented here are, fittingly, 365 pieces which measure the height of the snow, sun, plants--along with the mercury in the thermometer--from the Wolf Moon of January, to the Buck Moon of July, to the Cold Moon of December. Borland jogs cityclogged sense by remarking on ""the silvery whine of snow"" underfoot, the ""clean, silty smell of flowing water at a brookside,"" the colors so pervasive that ""no December day is really bleak."" Looking over the animal world, he notes the existence of both the ""hordes"" of July (bumblebees, honey bees, wasps, ants) and the ""hoarders"" of September (field mice, chipmunks, squirrels, woodchucks). Oftentimes he passes along the natural lore of the countryman, correcting a myth (the chicken hawk doesn't eat chickens, the Cooper's hawk does) or inserting a farmer's almanac item--like cutting out pasture cedars for fence posts on a spare December day. He speaks simply and strongly and without embarrassment of ""generous June"" and its price, the ""long cold nights and short, bitter days at the dark turn of the year."" And the clear-eyed balance gives his words credence. It's a fine, sturdy collection for all its small parts.