July 20.
A thunder-shower in the night. The clap that wakes me is as if some one is moving lumber in an upper apartment, some vast hollow hall, tumbling it down and dragging it over the floor; and ever and anon the lightning fills the damp air with light.
Annursnack. The under sides of the leaves, exposed by the breeze, give a light bluish tinge to the woods as I look down on them. Looking at the woods west of this hill, there is a grateful dark shade under their eastern sides, where they meet the meadows, their cool night side, — a triangular segment of night, to which the sun has set. The mountains look like waves on a blue ocean tossed up by a stiff gale.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 20, 1851
The clap that wakes me is as if some one is moving lumber in an upper apartment . . . See June 17, 1852 ("The thunder sounds like moving a pile of boards in the attic."); May 29, 1857 ("The crashing thunder sounds like the overhauling of lumber on heaven's loft. ")
A thunder-shower in the night. The clap that wakes me is as if some one is moving lumber in an upper apartment, some vast hollow hall, tumbling it down and dragging it over the floor; and ever and anon the lightning fills the damp air with light.
Annursnack. The under sides of the leaves, exposed by the breeze, give a light bluish tinge to the woods as I look down on them. Looking at the woods west of this hill, there is a grateful dark shade under their eastern sides, where they meet the meadows, their cool night side, — a triangular segment of night, to which the sun has set. The mountains look like waves on a blue ocean tossed up by a stiff gale.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 20, 1851
The clap that wakes me is as if some one is moving lumber in an upper apartment . . . See June 17, 1852 ("The thunder sounds like moving a pile of boards in the attic."); May 29, 1857 ("The crashing thunder sounds like the overhauling of lumber on heaven's loft. ")
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