Aster multiflorus.
Observed the under sides of a shrub willow by the river, lit by the rays of the rising sun, shining like silver or dewdrops.
Observed the under sides of a shrub willow by the river, lit by the rays of the rising sun, shining like silver or dewdrops.
September 4, 2018
Yet, when I stood nearer and looked down on them at a different angle, they were quite dull.
I have provided my little snapping turtle with a tub of water and mud, and it is surprising how fast he learns to use his limbs and this world. He actually runs, with the yolk still trailing from him, as if he had got new vigor from contact with the mud.
The insensibility and toughness of his infancy make our life, with its disease and low spirits, ridiculous.
He impresses me as the rudiment of a man worthy to inhabit the earth. He is born with a shell. That is symbolical of his toughness.
His shell being so rounded and sharp on the back at this age, he can turn over without trouble.
P. M. – To climbing fern. Polygonum articulatum, apparently three or four days.
In the wood-paths I find a great many of the Castile-soap galls, more or less fresh. Some are saddled on the twigs. They are now dropping from the shrub oaks.
Is not Art itself a gall? Nature is stung by God and the seed of man planted in her.
The artist changes the direction of Nature and makes her grow according to his idea. If the gall was anticipated when the oak was made, so was the canoe when the birch was made.
Genius stings Nature, and she grows according to its idea.
7.30.– To Fair Haven Pond by boat.
Full moon; bats flying about; skaters and water bugs (?) like sparks of fire on the surface between us and the moon.
The high shore above the railroad bridge was very simple and grand, — first the bluish sky with the moon and a few brighter stars, then the near high level bank like a distant mountain ridge or a dark cloud in the eastern horizon, then its reflection in the water, making it double, and finally the glassy water and the sheen in one spot on the white lily pads.
Some willows for relief in the distance on the right.
It was Ossianic.
I noticed this afternoon that bubbles would not readily form on the water, and soon burst, probably on account of the late rains, which have changed its quality.
There is probably less stagnation and scum. It is less adhesive.
A fine transparent mist.
Lily Bay seemed as wide as a lake.
You referred the shore back to the Clamshell Hills. The mere edge which a flat shore presents makes no distinct impression on the eye and, if seen at all, appears as the base of the distant hills.
Commonly a slight mist yet more conceals it.
The dim low shore, but a few rods distant, is seen as the base of the distant hills whose distance you know. The low shore, if not entirely concealed by the low mist, is seen against the distant hills and passes for their immediate base. For the same reason hills near the water appear much more steep than they are.
We hear a faint metallic chip from a sparrow on the button-bushes or willows now and then.
Rowse was struck by the simplicity of nature now, — the sky the greater part, then a little dab of earth, and after some water near you.
Looking up the reach beyond Clamshell, the moon on our east quarter, its sheen was reflected for half a mile from the pads and the rippled water next them on that side, while the willows lined the shore in indistinct black masses like trees made with India ink (without distinct branches), and it looked like a sort of Broadway with the sun reflected from its pavements.
Such willows might be made with soot or smoke merely, lumpish with fine edges.
Meanwhile Fair Haven Hill, seen blue through the transparent mist, was as large and imposing as Wachusett, and we seemed to be approaching the Highlands of the river, a mountain pass, where the river had burst through mountains. A high mountain would be no more imposing.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 4, 1854
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature is genial to man (the anthropic principle)
The artist changes the direction of Nature and makes her grow according to his idea. See Walden ("There was an artist in the city of Kouroo who was disposed to strive after perfection."); Walden ("To effect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts"); December 11, 1855 ("The winter . . .is as it was designed and made to be, for the artist has had leisure to add beauty.")
September 4. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, September 4
September 4, 2018
Is not Art itself a gall? Nature is stung by God and the seed of man planted in her.
The artist changes the direction of Nature and makes her grow according to his idea. If the gall was anticipated when the oak was made, so was the canoe when the birch was made.
Genius stings Nature, and she grows according to its idea.
7.30.– To Fair Haven Pond by boat.
Full moon; bats flying about; skaters and water bugs (?) like sparks of fire on the surface between us and the moon.
The high shore above the railroad bridge was very simple and grand, — first the bluish sky with the moon and a few brighter stars, then the near high level bank like a distant mountain ridge or a dark cloud in the eastern horizon, then its reflection in the water, making it double, and finally the glassy water and the sheen in one spot on the white lily pads.
Some willows for relief in the distance on the right.
It was Ossianic.
I noticed this afternoon that bubbles would not readily form on the water, and soon burst, probably on account of the late rains, which have changed its quality.
There is probably less stagnation and scum. It is less adhesive.
A fine transparent mist.
Lily Bay seemed as wide as a lake.
You referred the shore back to the Clamshell Hills. The mere edge which a flat shore presents makes no distinct impression on the eye and, if seen at all, appears as the base of the distant hills.
Commonly a slight mist yet more conceals it.
The dim low shore, but a few rods distant, is seen as the base of the distant hills whose distance you know. The low shore, if not entirely concealed by the low mist, is seen against the distant hills and passes for their immediate base. For the same reason hills near the water appear much more steep than they are.
We hear a faint metallic chip from a sparrow on the button-bushes or willows now and then.
Rowse was struck by the simplicity of nature now, — the sky the greater part, then a little dab of earth, and after some water near you.
Looking up the reach beyond Clamshell, the moon on our east quarter, its sheen was reflected for half a mile from the pads and the rippled water next them on that side, while the willows lined the shore in indistinct black masses like trees made with India ink (without distinct branches), and it looked like a sort of Broadway with the sun reflected from its pavements.
Such willows might be made with soot or smoke merely, lumpish with fine edges.
Meanwhile Fair Haven Hill, seen blue through the transparent mist, was as large and imposing as Wachusett, and we seemed to be approaching the Highlands of the river, a mountain pass, where the river had burst through mountains. A high mountain would be no more imposing.
Now I began to hear owls, screech (?) owls, at a distance up-stream; but we hardly got nearer to them, as if they retreated before us. At length, when off Wheeler's grape and cranberry meadow, we heard one near at hand.
The rhythm of it was pe-pe-ou; this once or twice repeated, but more of a squeal and somewhat human. Or do not all strange sounds thrill us as human, till we have learned to refer them to their proper source?
The rhythm of it was pe-pe-ou; this once or twice repeated, but more of a squeal and somewhat human. Or do not all strange sounds thrill us as human, till we have learned to refer them to their proper source?
They appeared to answer one another half a mile apart; could be heard from far woods a mile off.
The wind has risen and the echo is poor; it does not reverberate up and down the river.
No sound of a bullfrog, but steadily the cricket-like Rana palustris alongshore.
Rowse heard a whip-poor-will at Sleepy Hollow to night.
No scent of muskrats.
The wind has risen and the echo is poor; it does not reverberate up and down the river.
No sound of a bullfrog, but steadily the cricket-like Rana palustris alongshore.
Rowse heard a whip-poor-will at Sleepy Hollow to night.
No scent of muskrats.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 4, 1854
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Nature is genial to man (the anthropic principle)
The gall was anticipated when the oak was made. See January 3, 1852 ("Oak-apples are a winter fruit . . . Do they not suggest that all vegetable fruit is but the albumen about young animal life?")
The artist changes the direction of Nature and makes her grow according to his idea. See Walden ("There was an artist in the city of Kouroo who was disposed to strive after perfection."); Walden ("To effect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts"); December 11, 1855 ("The winter . . .is as it was designed and made to be, for the artist has had leisure to add beauty.")
As God stung Nature
and planted the seed of man
the artist changes
the direction of Nature –
Art itself a gall.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The artist changes the direction of Nature
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
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