the brightest object in the landscape these days.

March 20.  

7 a. m. — River no higher than three days ago, notwithstanding the rain of two days ago, the wind being southwest and very strong. 

P. M. — I see under the east side of the house amid the evergreens, where they were sheltered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch them through a window within six or eight feet. They evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at least are not averse to each other's society. 

The tree sparrows sing a little. One perches on a bush to sing, while others are feeding on the ground, but he is very restless on his perch, hopping about and stooping as if dodging those that fly over. He must perch on some bit of stubble or twig to sing. They are evidently picking up the seeds of weeds which lie on the surface of the ground invisible to our eyes. They suffer their wings to hang rather loose. 

The F. hyemalis is the largest of the three. They have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers. 

The tree sparrows are much brighter brown and white than the song sparrow. 

The latter alone scratches once or twice, and is more inclined to hop or creep close to the ground, under the fallen weeds. Perhaps it deserves most to be called the ground-bird. 

P. M. — Up Assabet. 

Very strong northwest wind. 

When I get opposite the end of the willow-row, the sun comes out and they are very handsome, like a rosette, pale-tawny or fawn-colored at base and a rich yellow or orange yellow in the upper three or four feet. 

This is, methinks, the brightest object in the landscape these days. Nothing so betrays the spring sun. I am aware that the sun has come out of a cloud first by seeing it lighting up the osiers. Such a willow-row, cut off within a year or two, might be called a heliometer, or measure of the sun's brightness. 

The last year's shoots of many trees — as maples, both white and red — retain a permanent bright color, red or scarlet, all winter and spring, till new ones  grow. The top of the forest is thus very agreeably tinged. 

The river is so high that I leave it at Pinxter Swamp, and come into it again only at the swift narrow place above, near the road.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 20, 1859

The F. hyemalis have remarkably distinct light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers.. . . They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers See March 20, 1852 ("And now, within a day or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snowbird (Fringilla hyemalis?), and I drive the flocks before me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two white feathers in its tail")'; March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers."); March 20, 1858 ("The note of the F. hyemalis, or chill-lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crackling or shuffling chip as it flits by."); March 28, 1853 ("The woods ring with the cheerful jingle of the F. hyemalis. This is a very trig and compact little bird, and appears to be in good condition. The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts remarkably with the white from beneath ; the short, light-colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ; and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Dark-eyed Junco.

The tree sparrows sing a little. See March 20, 1855 ("At my landing I hear the F. hyemalis, in company with a few tree sparrows. They take refuge from the cold wind, half a dozen in all, behind an arbor-vitae hedge, and there plume themselves with puffed-up feathers.");March 20, 1858 ("The tree sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most melodious warbler at present and for some days."). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Tree Sparrow.