March 12.
This is the blackbird morning. Their sprayey notes and conqueree ring with the song sparrows' jingle all along the river. Thus gradually they acquire confidence to sing. It is a beautiful spring morning.
I hear my first robin peep distinctly at a distance. No singing yet.
I hear from an apple tree a faint cricket like chirp, and a sparrow darts away, flying far, dashing from side to side.
See a large mouse on the snow near the edge of the wood.
I hear a jay loudly screaming phe-phay phe-phay, — a loud, shrill chickadee's phebe.
Now I see and hear the lark sitting with head erect, neck outstretched, in the middle of a pasture, and I hear another far off singing. Sing when they first come.
All these birds do their warbling especially in the still, sunny hour after sunrise, as rivers twinkle at their sources. Now is the time to be abroad and hear them, as you detect the slightest ripple in smooth water. As with tinkling sounds the sources of streams burst their icy fetters, so the rills of music begin to flow and swell the general quire of spring.
Memorable is the warm light of the spring sun on russet fields in the morning.
A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. This great expanse of deep-blue water, deeper than the sky, why does it not blue my soul as of yore? It is hard to soften me now. The time was when this great blue scene would have tinged my spirit more.
I look across the meadows to Bedford, and see that peculiar scenery of March, in which I have taken so many rambles, the earth just bare and beginning to be dry, the snow lying on the north sides of hills, the gray deciduous trees and the green pines soughing in the March wind — they look now as if deserted by a companion, the snow. When you walk over bare lichen-clad hills, just beginning to be dry, and look afar over the blue water on the meadows, you are beginning to break up your winter quarters and plan adventures for the new year.
The scenery is like, yet unlike, November; you have the same barren russet, but now, instead of a dry, hard, cold wind, a peculiarly soft, moist air, or else a raw wind. Now is the reign of water. Toward night the water becomes smooth and beautiful. Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 12, 1854
This is the blackbird morning. Their sprayey notes and conqueree ring with the song sparrows' jingle all along the river. See March 14, 1852 ("I see a flock of blackbirds and hear their conqueree."); March 18, 1857 ("And now from far southward coming on through the air, the chattering of blackbirds, —probably red-wings, for I hear an imperfect conqueree.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red-wing in Early Spring
I hear my first robin peep distinctly at a distance. No singing yet. See March 7, 1859 ("The first note which I heard from the robins, far under the hill, was sveet sveet, suggesting a certain haste and alarm, and then a rich, hollow, somewhat plaintive peep or peep-eep-eep, as when in distress with young just flown. When you first see them alighted, they have a haggard, an anxious and hurried, look."); March 8, 1855 ("I hear the hasty, shuffling, as if frightened, note of a robin from a dense birch wood."); April 2, 1856 ("Robins are peeping and flitting about. Am surprised to hear one sing regularly their morning strain.”); Compare April 16, 1856 ("The robins sing with a will now.”); see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the anxious peep of the early robin
A large mouse on the snow near the edge of the wood. [Probably the common mouse (mus musculus)] See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse
Now I see and hear the lark. . . Sing when they first come. All these birds do their warbling especially in the still, sunny hour after sunrise. See March 13, 1859 ("Going down railroad, listening intentionally, I hear, far through the notes of song sparrows (which are very numerous), the song of one or two larks..") Compare March 13, 1853 ("Excepting a few bluebirds and larks, no spring birds have come, apparently. The woods are still."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Lark in Early Spring
Memorable is the warm light of the spring sun on russet fields in the morning. See March 12, 1859 ("This russet grass with its weeds, being saturated with moisture, was in this light the richest brown, methought, that I ever saw. ") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Colors of March-- Brown Season
A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. This great expanse of deep-blue water, deeper than the sky, why does it not blue my soul as of yore? It is hard to soften me now. The time was when this great blue scene would have tinged my spirit more.
I look across the meadows to Bedford, and see that peculiar scenery of March, in which I have taken so many rambles, the earth just bare and beginning to be dry, the snow lying on the north sides of hills, the gray deciduous trees and the green pines soughing in the March wind — they look now as if deserted by a companion, the snow. When you walk over bare lichen-clad hills, just beginning to be dry, and look afar over the blue water on the meadows, you are beginning to break up your winter quarters and plan adventures for the new year.
The scenery is like, yet unlike, November; you have the same barren russet, but now, instead of a dry, hard, cold wind, a peculiarly soft, moist air, or else a raw wind. Now is the reign of water. Toward night the water becomes smooth and beautiful. Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 12, 1854
This is the blackbird morning. Their sprayey notes and conqueree ring with the song sparrows' jingle all along the river. See March 14, 1852 ("I see a flock of blackbirds and hear their conqueree."); March 18, 1857 ("And now from far southward coming on through the air, the chattering of blackbirds, —probably red-wings, for I hear an imperfect conqueree.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red-wing in Early Spring
I hear my first robin peep distinctly at a distance. No singing yet. See March 7, 1859 ("The first note which I heard from the robins, far under the hill, was sveet sveet, suggesting a certain haste and alarm, and then a rich, hollow, somewhat plaintive peep or peep-eep-eep, as when in distress with young just flown. When you first see them alighted, they have a haggard, an anxious and hurried, look."); March 8, 1855 ("I hear the hasty, shuffling, as if frightened, note of a robin from a dense birch wood."); April 2, 1856 ("Robins are peeping and flitting about. Am surprised to hear one sing regularly their morning strain.”); Compare April 16, 1856 ("The robins sing with a will now.”); see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the anxious peep of the early robin
A large mouse on the snow near the edge of the wood. [Probably the common mouse (mus musculus)] See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Wild Mouse
Now I see and hear the lark. . . Sing when they first come. All these birds do their warbling especially in the still, sunny hour after sunrise. See March 13, 1859 ("Going down railroad, listening intentionally, I hear, far through the notes of song sparrows (which are very numerous), the song of one or two larks..") Compare March 13, 1853 ("Excepting a few bluebirds and larks, no spring birds have come, apparently. The woods are still."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Lark in Early Spring
A new feature is being added to the landscape, and that is expanses and reaches of blue water. See February 27, 1860 ("The sudden apparition of this dark-blue water on the surface of the earth is exciting. I must now walk where I can see the most water, as to the most living part of nature. This is
the blood of the earth and we see its blue arteries pulsing with new life."); March 5, 1854 ("It is a clear morning with some wind beginning to rise, and for the first time I see the water looking blue on the meadows."); March 11, 1854 ("From the hill the river and meadow is about equally water and ice, — rich blue water and islands or continents of white ice") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Bright Blue Water
the blood of the earth and we see its blue arteries pulsing with new life."); March 5, 1854 ("It is a clear morning with some wind beginning to rise, and for the first time I see the water looking blue on the meadows."); March 11, 1854 ("From the hill the river and meadow is about equally water and ice, — rich blue water and islands or continents of white ice") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Bright Blue Water
Men are eager to launch their boats and paddle over the meadows. See March 12, 1855 ("Thus the river is no sooner fairly open than they [ducks] are back again, — before I have got my boat launched, and long before the river has worn through Fair Haven Pond.") See also March 3, 1860 ("I should have launched my boat ere this if it had been ready."); March 8, 1855 ("This morning I got my boat out of the cellar and turned it up in the yard to let the seams open before I calk it. The blue river, now almost completely open, admonishes me to be swift.")
Memorable light
of the spring sun on russet
fields in the morning.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, It is a Beautiful Spring Morning
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 © 2009-2024
tinyurl.com/hdt-540312
No comments:
Post a Comment