This haziness seems
to confine and concentrate
the August sunlight.
Rain-storm in the night.
The first leaves begin to fall,
blown off by the wind.
How sudden a change
this clear, cool autumnal air
in which all things shine.
I love to sit on
the sunny side of the wall
in the withered grass.
Now that air is cool
genial nature provides
the warmth of the sun.
. I hear in the street
this morning a goldfinch sing
part of a sweet strain.
August 29, 1859
August 29, 2019
The first leaves begin to fall; a few yellow ones lie in the road this morning, loosened by the rain and blown off by the wind. The ground in orchards is covered with windfalls; imperfect fruits now fall. August 29, 1852
It is so cool that we are inclined to stand round the kitchen fire. August 29, 1854
It is so cool a morning that for the first time I move into the entry to sit in the sun. August 29, 1859
But in this cooler weather I feel as if the fruit of my summer were hardening and maturing a little, acquiring color and flavor like the corn and other fruits in the field. . . . Man, too, ripens with the grapes and apples. August 29, 1859
But in this cooler weather I feel as if the fruit of my summer were hardening and maturing a little, acquiring color and flavor like the corn and other fruits in the field. . . . Man, too, ripens with the grapes and apples. August 29, 1859
It is a great pleasure to walk in this clearer atmosphere, though cooler. How great a change, and how sudden, from that sultry and remarkably hazy atmosphere to this clear, cool autumnal one, in which all things shine, and distance is restored to us! August 29, 1854
I enjoy the warmth of the sun now that the air is cool, and Nature seems really more genial. August 29, 1854
I enjoy the warmth of the sun now that the air is cool, and Nature seems really more genial. August 29, 1854
I hear this morning one eat it potter from a golden robin. They are now rarely seen. August 29, 1858
My mistress is at a more respectful distance, for, by the coolness of the air, I am more continent in my thought and held aloof from her, while by the genial warmth of the sun I am more than ever attracted to her. August 29, 1854
August 29.
August 29.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2015
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."
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