Thursday, April 28, 2022

A Book of the Seasons: April 28 (boisterous spring winds, earliest flowers, first greenness, a new season, insects, myrtle warbler, black and white warbler, nature's repose)




 The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852


 April 28.


Circular patches
of snow in the shadow of
the still leafless trees.

Spring flowers flash out –
the blossom precedes the leaf.
So with poetry?

I hear first to-day
the seezer seezer of the
black and white creeper.

Willows now in bloom 
resound with the hum of bees 
this warm afternoon. 

The hum of insects
like noise of one's own thinking –
voiceful, significant. 

April 28, 2017


Icy cold northwest wind, and snow whitening the mountains. April 28, 1857

The snow was generally gone about 10 A.M., except in circular patches in the shadow of the still leafless trees. April 28, 1858

A fine little blue-slate butterfly fluttered over the chain. Even its feeble strength was required to fetch the year about. How daring, even rash, Nature appears, who sends out butterflies so early!  April 28, 1856 

Perhaps the greenness of the landscape may be said to begin fairly now . . . during the last half of April the earth acquires a distinct tinge of green, which finally prevails over the russet. April 28, 1854

I see honey-bees laden with large pellets of the peculiar yellow pollen of the S. rostrata . . .  As you stand by such a willow in bloom and resounding with the hum of bees in a warm afternoon like this, you seem nearer to summer than elsewhere. April 28, 1860 

Again I am advertised of the approach of a new season . . .You seem to have a great companion with you, are reassured by the scarcely audible hum, as if it were the noise of your own thinking. April 28, 1860 

Are not the flowers which appear earliest in the spring the most primitive and simplest? . . . This may, perhaps, be nearly the order of the world's creation. Thus we have in the spring of the year the spring of the world represented.    April 28, 1852

How suddenly the flowers bloom! . . . The spring flowers wait not to perfect their leaves before they expand their blossoms. The blossom in so many cases precedes the leaf; so with poetry? They flash out. April 28, 1852

In the most favorable locality you will find flowers earlier than the May goers will believe. This year, at least, one flower hardly precedes another, but as soon as the storms are over and pleasant weather comes, all blossom at once, having been retarded so long. This appears to be particularly true of the herbaceous flowers. How much does this happen every year? April 28, 1852

Many Anemone nemorosa in full bloom at the further end of Yellow Thistle Meadow, in that warm nook by the brook, some probably a day or two there. April 28, 1856

The red maples, now in bloom, are quite handsome at a distance over the flooded meadow beyond Peter’s. The abundant wholesome gray of the trunks and stems beneath surmounted by the red or scarlet crescents. April 28, 1855 

See, but not yet hear, the familiar chewink amid the dry leaves amid the underwood on the meadow’s edge. April 28, 1856

I hear to-day frequently the seezer seezer seezer of the black and white creeper. It is not a note, nor a bird, to attract attention; only suggesting still warmer weather, —that the season has revolved so much further. April 28, 1856 

Sit on Ball's Hill. . . . The wind is northeast, and at the western base of the hill we are quite sheltered; yet the waves run quite high April 28, 1859

The first myrtle-bird that I have noticed. April 28, 1859

The wind is strong from the northwest. Land at Ball’s Hill to look for birds under the shelter of the hill in the sun. There are a great many myrtle-birds here, — they have been quite common for a week, — also yellow redpolls, and some song sparrows, tree sparrows, field sparrows, and one F. hyemalis. April 28, 1855

The myrtle-birds flit before us in great numbers, yet quite tame, uttering commonly only a chip, but some times a short trill or che che, che che, che che. Do I hear the tull-lull in the afternoon? It is a bird of many colors, — slate, yellow, black, and white, — singularly spotted. April 28, 1855 

I see the myrtle-bird in the same sunny place, south of the Island woods, as formerly. Thus are the earliest seen each spring in some warm and calm place by the waterside, when it is cool and blustering elsewhere. April 28, 1858

The barn swallows and a martin are already skimming low over that small area of smooth water within a few feet of me, never leaving that spot, and I do not observe them thus playing elsewhere. Incessantly stooping back and forth there.  April 28, 1858

Those little gnats of the 21st are still in the air in the sun under this hill, but elsewhere the cold strong wind has either drowned them or chilled them to death. I see where they have taken refuge in a boat and covered its bottom with large black patches. April 28, 1855

See a shad-fly, one only, on water. April 28, 1859

A little snake, size of little brown snake, on pine hill, but uniformly grayish above. April 28, 1859

E. Emerson's Salamandra dorsalis has just lost its skin. April 28, 1859

The spotted tortoise is spotted on shell, head, tail, and legs. April 28, 1852

Sitting on Mt. Misery, I see a very large bird of the hawk family, blackish with a partly white head but no white tail, - probably a fish hawk; sail quite near, looking very large. April 28, 1860

Blustering northwest wind and wintry aspect. A. M. — Down river to look at willows. I see the fish hawk again . . . This bird goes fishing slowly down one side of the river and up again on the other, forty to sixty feet high, continually poising itself almost or quite stationary, with its head to the northwest wind and looking down, flapping its wings enough to keep its place, some times stationary for about a minute. It is not shy. This boisterous weather is the time to see it. April 28, 1858

While standing by my compass over the supposed town bound beyond Wyman's, Farrar having just gone along northeast on the town line, I saw with the side of my eye some black creature crossing the road . . . and I first thought of a large black weasel, then of a large black squirrel, then wondered if it could be a pine marten. I now try to think it a mink. April 28, 1857

Again, as so many times, I am reminded of the advantage to the poet, and philosopher, and naturalist, and whomsoever, of pursuing from time to time some other business than his chosen one, — seeing with the side of the eye
  • The poet will so get visions which no deliberate abandonment can secure.
  •  The philosopher is so forced to recognize principles which long study might not detect. 
  • And the naturalist even will stumble upon some new and unexpected flower or animalApril 28, 1856
The boisterous spring winds cease to blow, the waves to dash, the migrating ducks to vex the air so much. You are sensible of a certain repose in nature. April 28, 1860

April 28, 2019

*****

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Earliest Flower.’
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-Spotted Turtle (Emys guttata)
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Bees


April 28, 2018

April 14, 1852 (“The streams break up; the ice goes to the sea. Then sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey.”)
April 21, 1855 ("All the button-bushes, etc., etc., in and about the water are now swarming with those minute fuzzy gnats about an eighth of an inch long.. . . The whole shore resounds with their hum wherever we approach it, and they cover our boat and persons. They are in countless myriads the whole length of the river.")
April 22, 1852 ("I see swarms of gnats in the air. ")
April 22, 1858 ("Hear martins about a box. ")
April 22, 1860 ("And in one place we disturb great clouds of the little fuzzy gnats that were resting on the bushes.")
April 24, 1855 ("That fine slaty-blue butterfly, bigger than the small red, in wood-paths ")
April 24, 1857 (“Sail to Ball's Hill. The water is at its height, higher than before this year. I see a few shad-flies on its surface.”)
April 25, 1852 ("The bees hum on the early willows that grow in the sand. They appear to have nearly stripped the sterile flowers of their pollen, and each has its little yellow parcel. The year is stretching itself, is waking up.")
April 25, 1854 ("Many shad-flies in the air and alighting on my clothes. The summer approaches by almost insensibly increasing lieferungs of heat, each awakening some new bird or quadruped or reptile . . .I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins.  The silent spaces have begun to be filled with notes of birds and insects and the peep and croak and snore of frogs, even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones. ")
 April 25, 1858 ("Approaching the Island, I hear the phe phe, phe phe, phe phe, phe phe, phe, the sharp whistling note, of a fish hawk, and, looking round, see him just afterward launching away from one of the swamp white oaks southwest of the Island. . . . He sails along some eighty feet above the water’s edge, looking for fish, and alights again quite near.")
April 25, 1859 ("First notice martins.")
April 25, 1859 ( "I got to-day and yesterday the first decided impression of greenness beginning to prevail")
April 26, 1855 ("See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident. ")
April 26, 1855  ("The blossoms of the red maple (some a yellowish green) are now most generally conspicuous and handsome scarlet crescents over the swamps. ")
April 26, 1858 ("See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods.")
 April 26, 1860 ("the cold weather of yesterday; the chilling wind came from a snow-clad country.")
April 26, 1860 ("Red maples are past prime. I have noticed their handsome crescents over distant swamps commonly for some ten days. At height, then, say the 21st. They are especially handsome when seen between you and the sunlit trees.")
April 27, 1852 ("Observed the spotted tortoise in the water of the meadow on J. Hosmer's land, by riverside. Bright-yellow spots on both shell and head. . . as if, when they were finished in other respects, the maker had sprinkled them with a brush.")
April 27, 1852 ("On Conantum Cliffs I find to-day for the first time the early saxifrage (Saxifraga vernalis) in blossom, growing high and dry in the narrow seams, where there is no soil for it but a little green moss. It is one of the first flowers, not only in the spring of the year, but in the spring of the world. ")
April 27, 1854 ("I hear the black and white creeper's note, — seeser seeser seeser se.")
April 27, 1854 ("The yellow redpolls still numerous; sing chill lill lill lill lill lill.")
April 27, 1855 (" The principal singer on this walk, both in wood and field away from town, is the field sparrow..")
April 27, 1855  (" The black and white creepers running over the trunks or main limbs of red maples and uttering their fainter oven-bird—like notes.")
April 27, 1860 (" There is a certain summeriness in the air now, especially under a warm cliff like this, where you smell the very dry leaves, and hear the pine warbler and the hum of insects and see considerable growth and greenness.")


April 29, 1855 ("Viola ovata will open to-morrow.")
April 29, 1855 ("Dandelions out yesterday, at least.")
April 29, 1856 ( How pretty a red maple in bloom (they are now in prime), seen in the sun against a pine wood, like these little ones in the swamp against the neighboring wood, they are so light and ethereal, not a heavy mass of color impeding the passage of the light, and they are of so cheerful and lively a color.")
April 29, 1856 ("At mid forenoon saw a fish hawk flying leisurely over the house northeasterly. ")
April 29, 1857 ("See a dandelion, its conspicuous bright-yellow disk in the midst of a green space on the moist bank. It seems a sudden and decided progress in the season.")
April 29, 1859 ("See and hear a black and white creeper. ")
April 29, 1859 ("Those red maples are reddest in which the fertile flowers prevail.")
April 30, 1855 ("Those myriads of little fuzzy gnats mentioned on the 21st and 28th must afford an abundance of food to insectivorous birds. Many new birds should have arrived about the 21st. There were plenty of myrtle-birds and yellow redpolls where the gnats were.")
April 30, 1852 ("The huckleberry-bird sings.")
April 30, 1855 ("Many new birds should have arrived about the 21st. There were plenty of myrtle-birds and yellow redpolls  . . .Hear a short, rasping note, somewhat tweezer-bird like, I think from a yellow redpoll.")
April 30, 1859 ("That interesting small blue butterfly (size of small red) is apparently just out, fluttering over the warm dry oak leaves within the wood in the sun. ")
May 1, 1852 ("I hear the first towhee finch. He says to-wee, to-wee, and another, much farther off than I supposed when I went in search of him, says whip your ch-r-r-r-r-r-r, with a metallic ring.")
May 1, 1854 ("The water is strewn with myriads of wrecked shad flies erect on the surface, with their wings up like so many schooners all headed one way")




April 29, 2015

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.

   April  2< <<<<<  April 28  >>>>> April 29

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 28
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2022

                   


https://tinyurl.com/HDT28April

Tuesday, April 26, 2022

A Book of the Seasons: April 26 ( take off greatcoat, the first chewink, ruby-crested wren, myrtle birds, still-overcast-mizzling April weather)

 



The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

 April 26.


Hear the first chewink
now hopping and chewinking
among the shrub oaks.

How pleasant in spring
a still overcast day like this
when water is smooth.

And the robin sings
with more vigor and promise
this mizzling still day.

What we should have called
a warm day in March is a
cold one at this date.




April 26, 2021



What they call April weather, threatening rain notwithstanding the late long-continued rains. . . . Lay on the dead grass in a cup-like hollow sprinkled with half-dead low shrub oaks. As I lie flat, looking close in among the roots of the grass, I perceive that its endless ribbon has pushed up about one inch and is green to that extent, — such is the length to which the spring has gone here, — though when you stand up the green is not perceptible. It is a dull, rain dropping and threatening afternoon, inclining to drowsiness. I feel as if I could go to sleep under a hedge. The landscape wears a subdued tone, quite soothing to the feelings; no glaring colors. I begin now to leave off my greatcoat. The frogs at a distance are now so numerous that, instead of the distinct shrill peeps, it is one dreamy sound. It is not easy to tell where or how far off they are. When you have reached their pool, they seem to recede as you advance. As you squat by the side of the pool, you still see no motion in the water, though your ears ring with the sound, seemingly and probably within three feet.I sat for ten minutes on the watch, waving my hand over the water that they might betray themselves, a tortoise, with his head out, a few feet off, watching me all the while, till at last I caught sight of a frog under a leaf, and caught and pocketed him; but when I looked afterward, he had escaped.The moment the dog stepped into the water they stopped. They are very shy. Hundreds filled the air with their shrill peep. Yet two or three could be distinguished by some peculiarity or variation in their note. Are these different? The Viola ovata budded. Saw pollywogs two or three inches long. April 26, 1852


A still, warm, overcast day with a southwest wind, and the finest possible dew-like rain in the air from time to time, now more of the sun. It is now so warm that I go back to leave my greatcoat for the first time, and the cooler smell of possible rain is refreshing. 
The woods are full of myrtle-birds this afternoon, more common and commonly heard than any, especially along the edge of woods on oaks, etc., — their note an oft-repeated fine jingle, a tea le, tea le, tea le. These small birds — and all small birds — seen against the sky at a little distance look black. There is not breadth enough to their colors to make any impression; they are mere motes, intercepting the light, the substance of a shadow. Hear the first chewink hopping and chewinking among the shrub oaks.To-day the air is full of birds; they attend the opening of the buds. The buds start, then the insects, then the birds. Birds sing all day when it is warm, still, and overcast as now, much more than in clear weather, and the hyla too is heard, as at evening. The hylodes commonly begins early in the afternoon, and its quire increases till evening. I hear now snipes far over the meadow incessantly at 3.15 p. m. Saw probably a pigeon hawk skim straight and low over field and wood, and another the next day apparently dark slate-color. It is warm and still, almost sultry, as if there might be a thunder-shower before night. Now look down on Fair Haven. How pleasant in spring a still, overcast, warm day like this, when the water is smooth! April 26, 1854


The blossoms of the red maple (some a yellowish green) are now most generally conspicuous and handsome scarlet crescents over the swamps. Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a [ruby]-crested wren, — the robin’s note, etc., —in the tops of the high wood; see myrtle-birds and half a dozen pigeonsThe prate of the last is much like the creaking of a tree. They lift their wings at the same moment as they sit. There are said to be many about now. See their warm-colored breasts. I see pigeon woodpeckers billing on an oak at a distance. See and hear chewinks, — all their strains; the same date with last year, by accident. Many male and female white-throated sparrows feeding on the pasture with the song sparrow. The male’s white is buff in the female. A brown thrasher seen at a little distance. We see and hear more birds than usual this mizzling and still day, and the robin sings with more vigor and promise than later in the season. April 26, 1855



Worm-piles about the door-step this morning; how long? The white cedar gathered the 23d does not shed pollen in house till to-day, and I doubt if it will in swamp before to-morrow. Monroe’s larch will, apparently, by day after to-morrow. April 26, 1856


We sit on the shore at Wheeler's fence, opposite Merriam's. At this season still we go seeking the sunniest, most sheltered, and warmest place. C. says this is the warmest place he has been in this year.  We are in this like snakes that lie out on banks. In sunny and sheltered nooks we are in our best estate. There our thoughts flow and we flourish most. By and by we shall seek the shadiest and coolest place. How well adapted we are to our climate! In the winter we sit by fires in the house; in spring and fall, in sunny and sheltered nooks; in the summer, in shady and cool groves, or over water where the breeze circulates. Thus the average temperature of the year just suits us. Generally, whether in summer or winter, we are not sensible either of heat or cold. The white cedar is apparently just out. The higher up the tree, the earlier. . . . Father says he saw a boy with a snapping turtle yesterday.. April 26, 1857


A little snow in the night, which is seen against the fences this morning. See a chewink (male) in the Kettell place woods. April 26, 1858


Start for Lynn. Rice says that he saw a large mud turtle in the river about three weeks ago, and has seen two or three more since. Thinks they come out about the first of April. He saw a woodchuck the 17th; says he heard a toad on the 23d.    P. M. — Walked with C. M. Tracy in the rain in the western part of Lynn, near Dungeon Rock. This is the last of the rains (spring rains!) which invariably followed an east wind. April 26, 1859


Hear the ruby-crowned wren in the morning, near George Heywood's. We have had no snow for a long long while, and have about forgotten it. Dr. Bartlett, therefore, surprises us by telling us that a man came from Lincoln after him last night on the wheels of whose carriage was an inch of snow, for it snowed there a little, but not here. This is connected with the cold weather of yesterday; the chilling wind came from a snow-clad country. As the saying is, the cold was in the air and had got to come down. To-day it is 53° at 2 P. M., yet cold, such a difference is there in our feelings. What we should have called a warm day in March is a cold one at this date in April. It is the northwest wind makes it cold. Out of the wind it is warm. It is not, methinks, the same air at rest in one place and in motion in another, but the cold that is brought by the wind seems not to affect sheltered and sunny nooks. April 26, 1860

*****

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Red Maple
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Violets

April 26, 2012

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.


April 25.< <<<<< April 26   >>>>>  April 27
 


A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau
A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 26
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2022

https://tinyurl.com/HDT26April

Monday, April 25, 2022

A Book of the Seasons: April 25: (hawks, greenness, toads, frogs snipe, wind, turtles, mosses, black ducks, partridge, bees)




 The year is but a succession of days,
and I see that I could assign some office to each day
which, summed up, would be the history of the year.
Henry Thoreau, August 24, 1852

 April 25

The first partridge drums –
 earth's pulse now beats audibly
with the flow of life.

I stand listening,
silent spaces start to fill –
summer’s quire begins.


April 25, 2014



 

The frogs peep at midday. The bees are on the pistillate flowers of the early willows, – the honey-bee, a smaller, fly-like bee with very transparent wings and bright-yellow marks on the abdomen, and also a still smaller bee, more like the honey-bee. They all hum like summer. The water in the meadow beyond J. Hosmer's is still and transparent, and I hear the more stertorous sound or croak of frogs from it, such as you associate with sunny, warmer, calm, placid spring weather. The tortoises are out sunning. The painted tortoise on a tussock. A spotted tortoise on the railroad hisses when I touch it with my foot and draws its [head] in. That warmer, placid pool and stertorous sound of frogs must not be forgotten, - beneath the railroad causeway. The bees hum on the early willows that grow in the sand. They appear to have nearly stripped the sterile flowers of their pollen, and each has its little yellow parcel. The year is stretching itself, is waking up. April 25, 1852

Quite warm and the frogs are snoring on the meadow. I swelter under my greatcoat.  Many shad-flies in the air and alighting on my clothes. The summer approaches by almost insensibly increasing lieferungs of heat, each awakening some new bird or quadruped or reptile. At first we were compelled to take off our mittens, then to unbutton our greatcoat, and now, perhaps, to take it off occasionally (I have not left it at home yet), and wear thin boots. For some time we have done with little fire, nowadays let it go out in the afternoon. Each creature awaits with confidence its proper degree of heat. The first partridge drums in one or two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all Nature and makes her heart palpitate. As I stand listening for the wren, and sweltering in my greatcoat, I hear the woods filled with the hum of insects, as if my hearing were affected; and thus the summer's quire begins. The silent spaces have begun to be filled with notes of birds and insects and the peep and croak and snore of frogs, even as living green blades are everywhere pushing up amid the sere ones. April 25, 1854

April 25, 2023

Hear a faint cheep and at length detect the white throated sparrow, the handsome and well-marked bird, the largest of the sparrows, with a yellow spot on each side of the front, hopping along under the rubbish left by the woodchopper. I afterward hear a faint cheep very rapidly repeated, making a faint sharp jingle,—no doubt by the same. Many sparrows have a similar faint metallic cheep, —the tree sparrow and field sparrow, for instance. I first saw the white-throated sparrow at this date last year. Hear the peculiar squeaking notes of a pigeon woodpecker. Two black ducks circle around me three or four times, wishing to alight in the swamp, but finally go to the river meadows. I hear the whistling of their wings. Their bills point downward in flying  . . .  After sunset paddle up to the Hubbard Bath. The bushes ringing with the evening song of song sparrows and robins, and the evening sky reflected from the surface of the rippled water like the lake grass on pools. A spearers’ fire seems three times as far off as it is. April 25, 1855

Bushes ring with song --
evening sky reflected from
the rippled water.
April 25, 1855

The toads have begun fairly to ring at noonday in amid the birches to hear them. The wind is pretty strong and easterly. There are many, probably squatted about the edge of the falling water, in Merrick’s pasture . . . It is a low, terrene sound, the undertone of the breeze. Now it sounds low and indefinitely far, now rises, as if by general consent, to a higher key, as if in another and nearer quarter, — a singular alternation. The now universal hard metallic ring of toads blended and partially drowned by the rippling wind. The voice of the toad, the herald of warmer weather . . . Return over the top of the hill against the wind. The Great Meadows now, at 3.30 P. M., agitated by the strong easterly wind this clear day, when I look against the wind with the sun behind me, look particularly dark blue . . . I landed on Merrick’s pasture near the rock, and when I stepped out of the boat and drew it up, a snipe flew up, and lit again seven or eight rods off. After trying in vain for several minutes to see it on the ground there, I advanced a step and, to my surprise, scared up two more, which had squatted on the bare meadow all the while within a rod, while I drew up my boat and made a good deal of noise. In short, I scared up twelve, one or two at a time, within a few rods, which were feeding on the edge of the meadow just laid bare, each rising with a sound like squeak squeak, hoarsely. That part of the meadow seemed all alive with them. It is almost impossible to see one on the meadow, they squat and run so low, and are so completely the color of the ground. They rise from within a rod, fly, half a dozen rods, and then drop down on the bare open meadow before your eyes, where there seems not stubble enough to conceal, and are at once lost as completely as if they had sunk into the earth. I observed that some, when finally scared from this island, flew off rising quite high, one a few rods behind the other, in their peculiar zigzag manner, rambling about high over the meadow, making it uncertain where they would settle, till at length I lost sight of one and saw the other drop down almost perpendicularly into the meadow, as it appeared . . . At evening see a spearer’s light.  April 25, 1856

It is cool and windy this afternoon. Some sleet falls, but as we sit on the east side of Smith's chestnut grove, the wood, though so open and leafless, makes a perfect lee for us, apparently by breaking the force of the wind. A dense but bare grove of slender chestnut trunks a dozen rods wide is a perfect protection against this violent wind, and makes a perfectly calm lee . . . The dense, green, rounded beds of mosses in springs and old water-troughs are very handsome now, — intensely cold green cushions. Again we had, this afternoon at 2 o'clock, those wild, scudding wind-clouds in the north, spitting cold rain or sleet, with the curved lines of falling rain beneath. The wind is so strong that the thin drops fall on you in the sunshine when the cloud has drifted far to one side. The air is peculiarly clear, the light intense, and when the sun shines slanting under the dark scud, the willows, etc., rising above the dark flooded meadows, are lit with a fine straw-colored light like the spirits of trees . . . The beds of fine mosses on bare yellow mouldy soil are now in fruit and very warmly red in the sun when seen a little from one side. April 25, 1857

Mosses now in fruit
are warmly red in the sun
when seen from one side.

Approaching the Island, I hear the phe phe, phe phe, phe phe, phe phe, phe, the sharp whistling note, of a fish hawk, and, looking round, see him just afterward launching away from one of the swamp white oaks southwest of the Island. There is about half a second between each note, and he utters them either while perched or while flying. He shows a great proportion of wing and some white on back. The wings are much curved. He sails along some eighty feet above the water’s edge, looking for fish, and alights again quite near. I see him an hour afterward about the same spot.  April 25, 1858

I got to-day and yesterday the first decided impression of greenness beginning to prevail, summer-like. It struck me as I was going past some opening and by chance looked up some valley or glade, — greenness just beginning to prevail over the brown or tawny. It is a sudden impression of greater genialness in the air, when this greenness first makes an impression on you at some turn, from blades of grass decidedly green, though thin, in the sun and the still, warm air, on some warm orchard-slope perhaps. It reminds you of the time, not far off, when you will see the dark shadows of the trees there and buttercups spotting the grass. Even the grass begins to wave . . .  and I am suddenly advertised that a new season has arrived. This is the beginning of that season which, methinks, culminates with the buttercup and wild pink and Viola pedata. It begins when the first toad is heard. Methinks I hear through the wind to-day — and it was the same yesterday — a very faint, low ringing of toads, as if distant and just begun. It is an indistinct undertone, and I am far from sure that I hear anything. It may be all imagination. April 25, 1859


A cold day, so that the people you meet remark upon it, yet the thermometer is 47° at 2 P. M. We should not have remarked upon it in March. It is cold for April, being windy withal. . . . I hear the greatest concerts of blackbirds, – red wings and crow blackbirds nowadays, especially of the former (also the 22d and 29th). The maples and willows along the river, and the button-bushes, are all alive with them. They look like a black fruit on the trees, distributed over the top at pretty equal distances. It is worthwhile to see how slyly they hide at the base of the thick and shaggy button-bushes at this stage of the water. They will suddenly cease their strains and flit away and secrete themselves low amid these bushes till you are past; or you scare up an unexpectedly large flock from such a place, where you had seen none. I pass a large quire in full blast on the oaks, etc., on the island in the meadow northwest of Peter‘s. Suddenly they are hushed, and I hear the loud rippling rush made by their wings as they dash away, and, looking up, I see what I take to be a sharp-shinned hawk just alighting on the trees where they were, having failed to catch one. They retreat some forty rods off, to another tree, and renew their concert there. The hawk plumes himself, and then flies off, rising gradually and beginning to circle, and soon it joins its mate, and soars with it high in the sky and out of sight, as if the thought of so terrestrial a thing as a blackbird had never entered its head. It appeared to have a plain reddish-fawn breast. The size more than anything made me think it a sharp-shin. April 25, 1860

Horace Mann brings me apparently a pigeon hawk. The two middle tail-feathers are not tipped with white and are pointed almost as a woodpecker's. April 25, 1861

April 25, 2014

April 25, ,2023

If you make the least correct 
observation of nature this year,
 you will have occasion to repeat it
 with illustrations the next, 
and the season and life itself is prolonged.
 
April  24 <<<<<<  April 25  >>>>> April 26

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, April 25
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 © 2009-2022 

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