To Walden.

October 5. 

Rain, more or less, yesterday afternoon and this forenoon. The frosts have this year killed all of Stow's artichokes before one of them had blossomed, but those in Alcott's garden had bloomed probably a fortnight ago. About 4 P.M. it is fast clearing up, the clouds withdrawing, with a little dusky scud beyond their western edges against the blue.

We come out on the east shore of Walden. The water is tolerably smooth. The smooth parts are dark and dimpled by many rising fishes. Where it is rippled it is light-colored, and the surface thus presents three or four alternate light and dark bars.

I see a fish hawk, skimming low over it, suddenly dive for one of those little fishes that rise to the surface. He then sits on a bare limb over the water, ready to swoop down again on his finny prey, presenting, as he sits erect, a long white breast and belly and a white head. He can easily find a perch overlooking the lake and discern his prey in the clear water.

No doubt he well knows the habits of these little fishes which dimple the surface of Walden at this season, and I doubt if there is any better fishing-ground for him. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 5, 1860