The tumultuous singing of birds, a burst of melody poured into my slumber, wakes me this morning at dawn.
Standing on Emerson's Cliff, I see very distinctly the redness of a luxuriant field of clover on the top of Fair Haven Hill, some two thirds of a mile off, the day being cloudy and misty, the sun just ready to break out.
On this Emerson hill the sedge P. Pennsylvanica has shot up into large and luxuriant and densely set tufts, giving quite a grassy appearance to the spaces between the little oak sprouts.
I notice huckleberry and blueberry, and those remarkable galls on a shrub oak, two or three together, each with a grub in it.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 18, 1860
The tumultuous singing of birds, a burst of melody poured into my slumber . See June 4, 1852 (“What sounds to be awakened by! If only our sleep, our dreams, are such as to harmonize with the song, the warbling of the birds, ushering in the day!”)
I see very distinctly the redness of a luxuriant field of clover on the top of Fair Haven Hill. See June 15, 1853 (“What more luxuriant than a clover-field? . . . This is perhaps the most characteristic feature of June, resounding with the hum of insects. It is so massive, such a blush on the fields. The rude health of the sorrel cheek has given place to the blush of clover.”)
The tumultuous singing of birds, a burst of melody, wakes me up (the window being open) these mornings at dawn. What a matinade to have poured into your slumber!
. . .
I see in the southerly bays of Walden the pine pollen now washed up thickly; only at the bottom of the bays, especially the deep long bay, where it is a couple of rods long by six to twenty-four inches wide and one inch deep; pure sulphur-yellow, and now has no smell. It has come quite across the pond from where the pines stand, full half a mile, probably washed across most of the way.
I have scarcely seen a warbler for a fortnight, or since the leaves have been developed, though I hear plenty of them in the tree-tops.
I see very distinctly the redness of a luxuriant field of clover on the top of Fair Haven Hill. See June 15, 1853 (“What more luxuriant than a clover-field? . . . This is perhaps the most characteristic feature of June, resounding with the hum of insects. It is so massive, such a blush on the fields. The rude health of the sorrel cheek has given place to the blush of clover.”)
The tumultuous singing of birds, a burst of melody, wakes me up (the window being open) these mornings at dawn. What a matinade to have poured into your slumber!
. . .
I see in the southerly bays of Walden the pine pollen now washed up thickly; only at the bottom of the bays, especially the deep long bay, where it is a couple of rods long by six to twenty-four inches wide and one inch deep; pure sulphur-yellow, and now has no smell. It has come quite across the pond from where the pines stand, full half a mile, probably washed across most of the way.
I have scarcely seen a warbler for a fortnight, or since the leaves have been developed, though I hear plenty of them in the tree-tops.
June18. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 18
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2020
No comments:
Post a Comment