Now the mountains are concealed by the dog-day haze.

August 13.

First marked dog-day; sultry and with misty clouds. 

For ten days or so we have had comparatively cool, fall-like weather. I remember only with a pang the past spring and summer thus far. 

I have not been an early riser. Society seems to have invaded and overrun me. I have drank tea and coffee and made myself cheap and vulgar. My days have been all noontides, without sacred mornings and evenings. I desire to rise early henceforth, to associate with those whose influence is elevating, to have such dreams and waking thoughts that my diet may not be indifferent to me. 

P. M. — To Bare Hill, Lincoln, via railroad. 

This is a quite hot day again, after cooler weather. 

I see where the pasture thistles have apparently been picked to pieces (for their seeds? by the goldfinch?), and the seedless down strews the ground. 

Huckleberries begin to be wormy, but are still sound on Bare Hill. 

August 13, 2023

Now the mountains are concealed by the dog-day haze, and the view is of dark ridges of forest, one behind the other, separated by misty valleys. 

Squirrels have begun to eat hazelnuts, and I see their dry husks on the ground turned reddish-brown. 

The change, decay, and fall of the brakes in woods, etc., is perhaps more autumnal than any sight. Some are quite brown and shrivelled, others yellow, others yellow and brown, others yellow, brown, and green, making a very rich and parti-colored or checkered work, as of plaited straw, — bead or straw work or ivory; others are still green with brown spots. 

At Thrush Alley, I am surprised to behold how many birch leaves have turned yellow, — every other one, — while clear, fresh, leather-colored ones strew the ground with a pretty thick bed under each tree. So far as the birches go it is a perfect autumnal scene here.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 13, 1854

Now the mountains are concealed by the dog-day haze. See August 14, 1852 (There is such a haze that I cannot see the mountains.); August 12, 1856 (“It is thick, smoky, dog-day weather again.”)

I remember only with a pang. See July 19, 1851 ("Yesterday it was spring, and to-morrow it will be autumn. Where is the summer then? ");  December 1, 1852 ("The year looks back toward summer, and a summer smile is reflected in her face."); January 12, 1855 ("Perhaps what most moves us in winter is some reminiscence of far-off summer"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

I see where the pasture thistles have apparently been picked to pieces (for their seeds? by the goldfinch?) See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Thistles; A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau the Goldfinch

Squirrels have begun to eat hazelnuts, and I see their dry husks on the ground. See August 21, 1854 ("Now, say, is hazelnut time.");  August 29, 1858 ("The bushes have been completely stripped by squirrels already and the rich brown burs are strewn on the ground beneath . . .Take warning from the squirrel, which is already laying up his winter store.")

The change, decay, and fall of the brakes in woods, etc., is perhaps more autumnal than any sight. See August 23, 1859 ("The scarlet lower leaves of the choke-berry and some brakes are the handsomest autumnal tints which I see to-day")

Birch leaves have turned yellow, — every other one, — while clear, fresh, leather-colored ones strew the ground. See August 31, 1858 ("The birches have lately lost a great many of their lower leaves, which now cover and yellow the ground.")

August 13. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, August 13.

Cool fall-like weather –

with a pang I remember

spring and summer past.

First marked dog-day

 sultry and with misty clouds –

mountains now concealed.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, with a pang I remember

spring and summer past.

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-540813