There has been a foggy haze, dog-day-like, for perhaps ten days, more or less. To-day it is so cold that we sit by a fire.
Disturb three different broods of partridges in my walk this afternoon in different places. One in Deep Cut Woods, big as chickens ten days old, went flying in various directions a rod or two into the hillside. Another by Heywood's meadow, the young two and a half inches long only, not long hatched, making a fine peep. Held one in my hand, where it squatted without winking. A third near Well Meadow Field. We are now, then, in the very midst of them. Now leading forth their young broods.
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| June 23, 2014 |
From the Cliffs the air is beautifully clear, showing the glossy and light-reflecting greenness of the woods.
It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 23, 1854
To-day it is so cold that we sit by a fire. See July 4, 1857 (“[F]or nearly a week many people have sat by a fire.”); July 8, 1860 ("The thermometer is at 66°, and some sit by fires.")
We are now, then, in the very midst of them. Now leading forth their young broods. See June 27,1852 ("I meet the partridge with her brood in the woods."); June 27, 1860 (" just this side the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood.") See also A Book of the Seasons,by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge.
It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens. See June 23 1852 ("You can see far into the horizon.") See also June 26, 1853 ("We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon
It is a great relief to look into the horizon. There is more room under the heavens. See June 23 1852 ("You can see far into the horizon.") See also June 26, 1853 ("We see infinitely further into the horizon on every side, and the boundaries of the world are enlarged.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Mountains in the Horizon
June 23. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 23
Beautiful clear air –
the glossy light-reflecting
greenness of the woods.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,
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
https://tinyurl.com/hdt-540623
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