When we ripple the surface, the undulating light is reflected from the waves.

It is a clear, cool, November-ish morning, reminding me of those peculiarly pleasant mornings in winter when there is a slight vapor in the atmosphere. On the hill, I see flocks of robins, flitting from tree to tree and peeping. The hemlock seeds are apparently ready to drop from their cones. 

It is a beautiful, warm and calm Indian-summer afternoon. The river is so high over the meadows, and the water is so smooth and glassy withal, that I am reminded of a calm April day during the freshets. The coarse withered grass, and the willows, and button-bushes with their myriad balls, and whatever else stands on the brink, are reflected with wonderful distinctness. This shore, thus seen from the boat, is like the ornamented frame of a mirror. 


When we ripple the surface, the undulating light is reflected from the waves upon the bank and bushes and withered grass.

Is not this already November, when the yellow and scarlet tints are gone from the forest ?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 31, 1853