A New England summer evening.

June 30.

Haying has commenced. 

I see the farmers in distant fields cocking their hay now at six o'clock. The day has been so oppressively warm that some workmen have lain by at noon, and the haymakers are mowing now in the early twilight.

After hoeing in a dusty garden all this warm afternoon, - so warm that the baker says he never knew the like and expects to find his horses dead in the stable when he gets home, - it is very grateful to wend one's way at evening to some pure and cool stream and bathe therein.


The blue flag (Iris versicolor) enlivens the meadow.

The lark sings a note which belongs to a New England summer evening. 

The cuckoo is faintly heard from a neighboring grove. 

Though so late, I hear the summer hum of a bee in the grass, as I am on my way to the river behind Hubbard's.

July 30, 2018

Now that it is beginning to be dark as I am crossing a pasture, I hear a happy, shrill cricket-like little lay from a sparrow either in the grass or else on that distant tree.

The tree-primrose, which was so abundant in one field last Saturday, is now all gone. The cattle on Bear Garden Hill, seen through the twilight, look monstrously large.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 30,1851

Haying has commenced. See June 30, 1852 ("Haying has commenced.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Haymaking

The blue flag (Iris versicolor) enlivens the meadow. See June 14, 1853 ("The blue flag (Iris versicolor) grows in this pure water, rising from the stony bottom all around the shores, and is very beautiful, — not too high-colored, — especially its reflections in the water. There was something [in] its bluish blade which harmonized with the greenish water.. . .. Instead of the white lily, which requires mud, or the sweet flag, here grows the blue flag in the water, thinly about the shore. The color of the flower harmonizes singularly with the water. . . .Large devil's-needles are buzzing back and forth. They skim along the edge of the blue flags, apparently quite round this cove or further, like hen-harriers beating the bush for game. And now comes a hummingbird humming from the woods and alights on the blossom of a blue flag. "); June 30, 1852 ("Is not this period more than any distinguished for flowers, when roses, swamp-pinks, morning-glories, arethusas, pogonias, orchises, blue flags, epilobiums, mountain laurel, and white lilies are all in blossom at once?"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Blue Flag Iris (Versicolor)

The lark sings a note which belongs to a New England summer evening. See July 11, 1857 ("Haying is fairly begun, and for some days I have heard the sound of the mowing-machine, and now the lark must look out for the mowers.'): July 16, 1851 ("The lark sings in the meadow; the very essence of the afternoon is in his strain. This is a New England sound")

Oppressively warm –

haymakers are mowing now

in early twilight.

The lark sings a note 

which belongs to New England

summer evenings.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  A New England Summer Evening

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

tinyurl.com/hdt-510630

Transcript of a letter dated 28 July 1802, Tangier, from U.S. Counsel James Simpson to Thomas Buckley Esq., shortly after Morocco declared war on the United States

In May of 1801, the Bashaw of Tripoli declared war on the United States by cutting down the flagstaff in front of the U.S. Consulate. In response, Jefferson sent a group of frigates to defend American interests in the Mediterranean and to blockade Tripoli. As part of the blockade, , Simpson refused to issue passports requested by Sultan Moulay Suliman of Morocco for two vessels to carry wheat from Gibraltar to Tripoli. 

On June 22, 1802, the Sultan Moulay Suliman responded by  expelling Simpson from Tangier and declaring war on the United States, but on July 26, 1802, invited Simpson to return.  This letter is dated July 28, 1802, shortly after Simpson’s return to Tangier in “furtherance of reconciliation.” 

The letter describes the readiness of Moroccan vessels and warns that Moroccans are preparing “to Capture American Vessels.”  The letter encloses a “Dispatch for the Secretary of State.”

Tangier 28 July 1802

Dear Sir

          I have to thank you for a letter received this day week at Gibraltar, and for these it covered. ~ I landed here Monday running under a Flag of Truce from the Enterprise Schooner,[1] for purposes of making certain Communications from the President to the Imperial Majesty[2], towards the furtherance of reconciliation; ~ The issue I will be careful to acquaint you. ~

          In the meantime I avail of this opportunity, to advise a Frigate of 22 Guns of 100 Men[3] lays purposely ready at Larach, to put to Sea first Levanter[4], provided with full authority to Capture American Vessels, which beg you will make known. ~ At Tetuan they have two half Gallies of two Guns each, & about fifty men nearly ready. ~ Enclosed is a Dispatch for the Secretary of State which request you will forward by first opportunity. ~

          I am with regard

               Dear Sir 
Your Most Obedient Servant


s/ James Simpson

---

[1] Enterprise was a 12 gun schooner, in 1801-02 under the command of Lieutenant Andrew Sterett

[2] Sultan Moulay Suliman. Morocco was the first nation to recognize the fledgling United States as an independent nation in 1777. The Moroccan-American Treaty of Friendship of 1786 is the first treaty between the United States and any Arab, Muslim or African country, and stands as the U.S.'s oldest non-broken friendship treaty. Sultan Moulay Suliman, had reaffirmed the Treaty in 1795

The Treaty provides for the protection of American shipping along the Moroccan coast and for commerce between the two nations on the basis of most favored nation. The treaty, binding for 50 years, was sealed by the Sultan Sidi Mohamed on June 28, 1786 and an additional article was added July 6th. Signed and sealed by Ministers Plenipotentiary of the United States, Thomas Jefferson in Paris on January 1, 1787, and John Adams in London on January 25th, it was ratified by Congress and entered into force on July 18, 1787.

  

[3]           This could refer to the Meshboha [a/k/a Mirboho or Mirboka], a 22-gun Moroccan Frigate with a crew of 120 men. The Meshboha, carrying orders of the Governor of Tangiers to cruise for American vessels and an American prize, was captured a year later, in August 1803, by the Philadelphia.   Preble and Rodgers blockaded the Moroccan coast and in October entered the Bay of Tangiers with the American Squadron (Constitution, New York, John Adams, and Nautilus) in full battle array.  
            After preliminary negotiation conducted by consul James Simpson, Sultan Moulay Suliman disavowed the act of the Governor of Tangiers, expressed a desire to remain at peace with the United States, and sent presents of cattle, sheep and fowl.  He again signed the treaty of 1786.

As President Jefferson informed the Congress, “All difficulties in consequence therof have been amicably adjusted… each party restoring to the other what had been detained or taken.”  (Special Message of December 5, 1803). See Charles Oscar Paullin, Diplomatic Negotiations of American Naval Officers, 1778-1883 (1912);   Charles Oscar Paullin, Commodore John Rodgers (1909).  The Emperor proclaimed, “The American nation are still, as they were, in peace and friendship with our person, exalted of God.” Eugene Schuyler, American Diplomacy and the Furtherance of Commerce (1895)

The National Intelligencer reported that Jefferson “had commanded peace” with Morocco “on his own terms” without blood or tribute.  Jefferson in turn praised the “temperate and correct course pursued by our consul, Mr. Simpson.” (Special Message to Congress of December 5, 1803)
James Simpson was U.S. Consul to Morocco at Tangier from 1796-1820.

[4] The Levanter is an easterly wind that blows in the Western Mediterranean, reaching its greatest intensity through the Strait of Gibraltar. The Levanter winds can occur at any time in the year, but are most common from July to October.

Red-top

June 26. 

The slight reddish-topped grass now gives a reddish tinge to some fields.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 26, 1851

See June 19, 1859 ("Is that red-top, nearly out on railroad bank?");  July 6, 1851 ("The red-topped grass is in its prime, tingeing the fields with red."); July 13, 1860 ("I especially notice some very red fields where the red-top grass grows luxuriantly and is now in full bloom, - a red purple, passing into brown. First we had the June grass reddish-brown, and the sorrel red, of June; now the red-top red of July."); July 15, 1860 ("Looking down on a field of red-top now in full bloom, at 2.30 P.M. in a blazing sun I am surprised to see a very distinct white vapor like a low cloud drifting along close over the moist coolness of that dense grass-field. Field after field, densely packed like the squares of a checker-board, all through and about the villages, paint the earth")

Bipolar walk for the cure

Bipolar illness is fun but no fun.  If I could end it by walking around the world, I would.  Why not? Will you help me in raising awareness and helping to end this devastating illness?  I need your support for a circumpolar walk around the world. Myrtle Beach, Coral Beach, Key West, St Bart's, Rio, Buenos Aires, Terra del Fuego. You see the fun. I need some money. Pledge a little, or pledge to come along. Little America, the South Pole. How fun could that be? if you join me we can stop this thing. Bipolar illness is the monkey on the backs of Millions round the world. Yet few dare speak its name. Yes you gave to stop breast cancer. Maybe even walked a mile in a pink shirt. Who wouldn't? But how bad is the breast cancer?  Would you rather walk into a McDonald's with a guy with manic depression and an Uzi?  No? Now its the  time to say "Yes" to bipolar. If the economy can have irrational exuberance so can we. Lets go. New Zealand, the Great Barrier Reef, Bora Bora. You see where this is headed. Pledge more money. We'll sail to Hawaii and just think about the North Pole.  Every pledge counts.  It's cold up there. And lonely.

Zphx, 20110625

I feel my Maker blessing me.

June 22. 

June 22 2019

The world is a musical instrument. The very touch affords an exquisite pleasure. I awake to its music with the calmness of a lake when there is not a breath of wind. Whom shall I thank for it? 

To be calm, to be serene! 

Are our serene moments mere foretastes of heaven,-- or a transient realization of what might be the whole tenor of our lives? Sometimes we are clarified and calmed healthily, as never before in our lives. We become like a still lake of purest crystal.

All the world goes by us and is reflected in our deeps. And without effort our depths are revealed to ourselves. Such clarity obtained by such pure means! -- by simple living, by honesty of purpose.

So is it with us.

We live and rejoice.

I feel my Maker blessing me. 

June 22, 2016

H.D. Thoreau, Journal , June 22, 1851

Sometime we are calmed

like a still lake when there is

not a breath of wind.

Each touch of the world

to the sane man affords

an exquisite pleasure. 

June 22, 1851

 There is the calmness of the lake when there is not a breath of wind; See
Day would not dawn if it were not for the inward Morning.("Waves of serener life pass over us from time to time, like flakes of sunlight over the fields in cloudy weather"); August 31, 1852 ("The wind is gone down; the water is smooth; a serene evening is approaching; the clouds are dispersing. . . .The reflections are the more perfect for the blackness of the water. This is the most glorious part of this day, the serenest, warmest, brightest part, and the most suggestive."); July 21, 1853 ("He who passes over a lake at noon, when the waves run, little imagines its serene and placid beauty at evening, as little as he anticipates his own serenity."). June 16, 1854 ("We walk to lakes to see our serenity reflected in them. When we are not serene, we go not to them.")

The unclouded mind,

serene, pure, ineffable

like the western sky.

January 17, 1852

Serene as the sky,

emulating nature with

calm and peaceful lives.

October 3, 1859

So perfectly calm,

yet no man but myself sees

the Pond this morning.

April 14, 1852

See  also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Serene as the Sky.

My pulse must beat with Nature. After a hard day's work without a thought, turning my very brain into a mere tool, only in the quiet of evening do I so far recover my senses as to hear the cricket, which in fact has been chirping all day.

In my better hours I am conscious of the influx of a serene and unquestionable wisdom ... What is that other kind of life to which I am thus continually allured ? which alone I love ? Is it a life for this world? ... Are our serene moments mere foretastes of heaven, — joys gratuitously vouchsafed to us as a consolation, — or simply a transient realization of what might be the whole tenor of our lives? 

To be calm, to be serene! There is the calmness of the lake when there is not a breath of wind; there is the calmness of a stagnant ditch. So is it with us. 

Sometimes we are clarified and calmed healthily, as we never were before in our lives, not by an opiate, but by some unconscious obedience to the all-just laws, so that we become like a still lake of purest crystal and without an effort our depths are revealed to our selves. All the world goes by us and is reflected in our deeps. 

Such clarity! obtained by such pure means! by simple living, by honesty of purpose. We live and rejoice. I awoke into a music which no one about me heard. Whom shall I thank for it ? 

The luxury of wisdom! the luxury of virtue! Are there any intemperate in these things ? I feel my Maker blessing me. To the sane man the world is a musical instrument. The very touch affords an exquisite pleasure.

And I hear around me, but never in sight, the many wood thrushes whetting their steel-like notes. Such keen singers ! It takes a fiery heat, many dry pine leaves added to the furnace of the sun, to temper their strains! Always they are either rising or falling to a new strain. After what a moderate pause they deliver themselves again ! saying ever a new thing, avoiding repetition, methinks answering one another. While most other birds take their siesta, the wood thrush discharges his song. It is delivered like a bolas, or a piece of jingling steel.

Sometimes we are calmed

like a still lake when there is

not a breath of wind.

All the world goes by

without effort and our depths 

revealed to our selves.

We touch the world and

feel exquisite pleasure – our

Maker blessing us.

June 22, 1851

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, I feel my Maker blessing me.

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

Mid-day; mid-June

June 15

June 15. 

See the first wild rose to-day on the west side of the railroad causeway. 

The whiteweed has suddenly appeared, and the clover gives whole fields a rich appearance, -- the rich red and the sweet-scented white. The fields are blushing with the red species as the western sky at evening.

The blue-eyed grass, well named, looks up to heaven. 

And the yarrow, with its persistent dry stalks and heads, is now ready to blossom again. 

The dry stems and heads of last year's tansy stand high above the new green leaves.

I sit in the shade of the pines to hear a wood thrush at noon. The ground smells of dry leaves ; the heat is oppressive. The bird begins on a low strain, i. e. it first delivers a strain on a lower key, then a moment after another a little higher, then another still varied from the others, — no two successive strains alike, but either ascending or descending. He confines himself to his few notes, in which he is unrivalled, as if his kind had learned this and no more anciently.

The hickory leaves are blackened by a recent frost.  A white froth drips from the pitch pines, just at the base of the new shoots. It has no taste.

The pollywogs in the pond are now fulltailed. A solitary woodcock in the shade goes off with a startled, rattling, hurried note.

I perceive , as formerly , a white froth dripping from the pitch pines , just at the base of the new shoots . It has no taste . The pollywogs in the pond are now full tailed . The hickory leaves are blackened by a recent frost , which reminds me that this is near their northern limit . 

It is remarkable the rapidity with which the grass grows . The 25th of May I walked to the hills in Way land , and when I returned across lots do not remember that I had much occasion to think of the grass , or to go round any fields to avoid treading on it ; but just a week afterward , at Worcester , it was high and waving in the fields , and I was to some extent confined to the road ; and the same was the case here . Apparently in one month you get from fields which you can cross without hesitation , to haying time . It has grown you hardly know when , be the weather what it may , sun shine or storm . I start up a solitary woodcock in the shade , in some copse ; goes off with a startled , rattling , . hurried note . After walking by night several times I now walk by day , but I am not aware of any crowning advantage in it . I see small objects better , but it does not enlighten me any . The day is more trivial . What a careful gardener Nature is ! She does not let the sun come out suddenly with all his intensity after rain and cloudy weather , but graduates the change to suit the tenderness of plants .

I see the tall crowfoot now in the meadows ( Ranunculus acris ) , with a smooth stem . I do not notice the bulbosus , which was so common a fortnight ago . The rose - colored flowers of the Kalmia angustifolia , lamb kill , just opened and opening . The Convallaria bifolia · growing stale in the woods . The Hieracium venosum , veiny - leaved hawkweed , with its yellow blossoms in the woodland path . 

The Hypoxis erecta, yellow Bethlehem-star, where there is a thick, wiry grass in open path; should be called yellow-eyed grass, methinks. 

The Pyrola asarifolia , with its pagoda - like stem of flowers , i . e . broad - leaved wintergreen . The Trientalis Americana , like last , in the woods , with its star - like white flower and pointed whorled leaves . The prunella too is in blossom , and the rather delicate Thesium umbellatum , a white flower . The Solomon ' s - seal , with a greenish drooping raceme of flowers at the top , I do not identify . 

I notice to - day the same remarkable bushy growth on the fir ( in Wheildon ' s garden ) that I have noticed on the pines and cedars . The leaves are not so thickly set and are much stiffer . 

I find that I postpone all actual intercourse with my friends to a certain real intercourse which takes place commonly when we are actually at a distance from one another.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 15, 1851

The blue-eyed grass, well named, looks up to heaven. See June 17. 1853 ("The dense fields of blue-eyed grass now blue the meadows, as if, in this fair season of the year, the clouds that envelop the earth were dispersing, and blue patches began to appear, answering to the blue sky. The eyes pass from these blue patches into the surrounding green as from the patches of clear sky into the clouds. ")

See the first wild rose to-day. . .  See June 15, 1853 ("Here are many wild roses northeast of Trillium Woods. It is the pride of June.") June 15, 1852 ("he common, early cultivated red roses are certainly very handsome, so rich a color and so full of blossoms; you see why even blunderers have introduced them into their gardens")

The clover gives whole fields a rich appearance, -- the rich red and the sweet-scented white. . . .See June 15, 1853   ("Clover now in its prime. What more luxuriant than a clover-field?”)

A white froth drips from the pitch pines, . . . See June 5, 1856 ("Froth on pitch pine."); June 4, 1854 ("I now notice froth on the pitch and white pines.”).

Reading Darwin

June 15. 

On the subsidence and elevation of the west coast of South America and of the Cordilleras:

"Daily it is forced home on the mind of the geologist, that nothing, not even the wind that blows, is so unstable as the level of the crust of this earth."

On the Galapagos: 

“The productions of the Galapagos Archipelago, from five to six hundred miles from America, are still of the American type. ..What is most singular, not only are the plants, etc., to a great extent peculiar to these islands, but each [island] for the most part has its own kinds, though they are within sight of each other.”

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 15, 1851

Each island has its own kinds. . . . See August 21, 1851 ("I have now found all the hawkweeds. Singular these genera of plants, plants manifestly related yet distinct. They suggest a history to nature, a natural history in a new sense.”) And (after reading the Origin of the Species) March 22, 1861 ("Every organism, whether animal or vegetable, is contending for the possession of the planet. . . . And each species prevails as much as it does, because of the ample preparations it has made for the contest,- it has secured a myriad chances.”); see also June 15, 1852 ("Flowers were made to be seen, not overlooked. Their bright colors imply eyes, spectators.")


From the Voyage of the Beagle chapter 17 :

....by far the most remarkable feature in the natural history of this archipelago; it is, that the different islands to a considerable extent are inhabited by a different set of beings. . . .I never dreamed that islands, about 50 or 60 miles apart, and most of them in sight of each other, formed of precisely the same rocks, placed under a quite similar climate, rising to a nearly equal height, would have been differently tenanted; but we shall soon see that this is the case.

Moonlight reflections

June 13.




Approaching the pond down Hubbard's Path, after coming out of the woods into a warmer air, I see the moon's inverted pyramid of light shimmering on its surface. I am startled to see midway in the dark water a bright flame- like, more than phosphorescent light crowning the crests of the wavelets. Though one would have said they were of an intenser light than the moon herself, on coming near to the shore of the pond itself I see this is so many broken reflections of the moon's disk.


I see reflections of the moon seeming to slide along a few inches with each wave before they are extinguished like so many lustrous burnished coins poured from a bag. And I see how farther and farther off they gradually merge in the general sheen, which, in fact, is made up of a myriad little mirrors reflecting the disk of the moon with equal brightness to an eye rightly placed.

The pyramid or sheaf of light which we see springing from near where we stand is, in fact, only the outline of that portion of the shimmering surface that an eye takes in. If there were as many eyes as angles presented by the waves, covered with those bright flame-like reflections of the moon's disk, the whole surface would appear as bright as the moon; and these reflections are dispersed in all directions into the atmosphere, flooding it with light.

H.D. Thoreau, Journal, June 13, 1851

I see the moon's inverted pyramid of light shimmering on its surface.. . . which, in fact, is made up of a myriad little mirrors reflecting the disk of the moon See April 3, 1852 ("A pathway of light, of sheeny ripples, extending across the meadow toward the moon, consisting of a myriad little bent and broken moons")   See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, June Moonlight and   Dogen:

~ Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water. Enlightenment does not divide you, just as the moon does not break the water. You cannot hinder enlightenment, just as a drop of water does not hinder the moon in the sky. The depth of the drop is the height of the moon. Each reflection, however long or short its duration, manifests the vastness of the dewdrop, and realizes the limitlessness of the moonlight in the sky . ~

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

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 © 2009-2021

Earth-song.

June 13.

Walk to Walden at night (moon not quite full) by railroad and upland wood-path, returning by Wayland road. The different frogs mark the seasons pretty well,- the peeping hyla, the dreaming frog, and the bullfrog. I believe that all may be heard at last occasionally together. The bullfrog belongs to summer. The tree-toad's, too, is a summer sound.

I hear partridges drumming to-night as late as 9 o'clock . What singularly space penetrating and filling sound! Why am I never nearer to its source?

I hear, just as the night sets in, faint notes from time to time from some sparrow falling asleep, - a vesper hymn - and later, in the woods, the chuckling, rattling sound of some unseen bird on the near trees.

As I climb the hill again toward my old bean-field I hear my old musical, simple-noted owl. Then, hearing at first some distinct chirps, I listen to the ancient, familiar, immortal, dear cricket sound under all others, and as these cease I become aware of the general earth-song.


H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 13, 1851

The different frogs mark the seasons pretty well,- the peeping hyla, the dreaming frog, and the bullfrog. See June 9, 1853 ("So there is an evening for the toads and another for the bullfrogs.")

I become aware of the general earth-song. See June 1, 1856 (“Was soothed and cheered by I knew not what at first, but soon detected the now more general creak of crickets”); June 4, 1854 (“These warm and dry days, which put spring far behind, the sound of the cricket at noon has a new value and significance, so serene and cool . . ..”); June 17, 1852 (“The earth-song of the cricket! Before Christianity was, it is. Health! health! health! is the burden of its song. ”) See also note to June 4, 1857 ("One thing that chiefly distinguishes this season from three weeks ago is that fine serene undertone or earth-song as we go by sunny banks and hillsides, the creak of crickets, which affects our thoughts so favorably, imparting its own serenity.")

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

The bullfrog belongs 

to summer – the tree-toad's, too, 

is a summer sound.

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

A book of seasons II.

June 12. 

Listen to music religiously, as if it were the last strain you might hear.

There would be this advantage in travelling in your own country, even in your own neighborhood, that you would be so thoroughly prepared to understand what you saw you would make fewer travellers' mistakes.

Is not he hospitable who entertains thoughts?

H. D. Thoreau, Journal,  June 12, 1851

Listen to music religiously, as if it were the last strain you might hear. See May 21, 1851("Only that thought and that expression are good which are musical.");June 22, 1851 ("To the sane man the world is a musical instrument. The very touch affords an exquisite pleasure."); January 15, 1857 ("What is there in music that it should so stir our deeps?"); November 30, 1858 ("I can only think of precious jewels, of music, poetry, beauty, and the mystery of life . . . ")

Traveling in your own country. . . . See  August 6, 1851 ("It takes a man of genius to travel in his own country, in his native village"); September 7, 1851 ("The discoveries which we make abroad are special and particular; those which we make at home are general and significant. The further off, the nearer the surface. The nearer home, the deeper.”); April 16, 1852 ("Many a foreigner who has come to this town has worked for years on its banks without discovering which way the river runs.”).

A book of seasons; the season of the night.

June 11.

The woodland paths are never seen to such advantage as in a moonlight night, opening before me almost against expectation as I walk, as if it were not a path, but an open, winding passage through the bushes, which my feet find. 

Hardly two nights are alike. I now descend round the corner of the grain-field, through the pitch pine wood into a lower field, inclosed by woods, and find myself in a colder, damp and misty atmosphere, with much dew on the grass. There is something creative and primal in the cool mist. It is laden with the condensed fragrance of plants.  I seem to be nearer to the origin of things.

My  spiritual side takes a more distinct form, like my shadow which I see accompanying me with the distinctness of a second person, a certain black companion bordering on the imp. I ask, “Who is this?”  whom I see dodging behind me as I am about to sit down on a rock.

No one, to my knowledge, has observed the minute differences in the seasons.  A book of the seasons, each page of which should be written in its own season and out-of-doors, or in its own locality wherever it may be.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 11, 1851

The woodland paths are never seen to such advantage as in a moonlight night, . . .Hardly two nights are alike. See July 16, 1850   ("Many men walk by day; few walk by night. It is a very different season.); October 26, 1857.(My moods are thus periodical, not two days in my year alike.)

My spiritual side takes a more distinct form. See September 22, 1854 ("By moonlight we are not of the earth earthy, but we are of the earth spiritual.")

A book of the seasons ... See

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 © 2009-2020

Minute differences of the seasons. See June 19, 1852 ("What subtile differences between one season and another! . . . The seasons admit of infinite degrees in their revolutions."); June 6, 1857 (“Each season is but an infinitesimal point. It no sooner comes than it is gone. It has no duration. It simply gives a tone and hue to my thought. Each annual phenomenon is a reminiscence and prompting.”)

Ah, that life that I have known! How hard it is to remember what is most memorable! We remember how we itched, not how our hearts beat. I can some times recall to mind the quality, the immortality, of my youthful life, but in memory is the only relation to it. The very cows have now left their pastures and are driven home to their yards. I meet no creature in the fields.  I hear the night-warbler breaking out as in his dreams, made so from the first for some mysterious reason. Our spiritual side takes a more distinct form, like our shadow which we see accompanying us .  . . . By night no flowers, at least no variety of colors. The pinks are no longer pink; they only shine faintly, reflecting more light. Instead of flowers underfoot, stars overhead. My shadow has the distinctness of a second person, a certain black companion bordering on the imp, and I ask, " Who is this ? " which I see dodging behind me as I am about to sit down on a rock. No one, to my knowledge, has observed the minute differences in the seasons. Hardly two nights are alike. The rocks do not feel warm to-night, for the air is warmest; nor does the sand particularly. A book of the seasons, each page of which should be written in its own season and out-of-doors, or in its own locality wherever it may be.

I see my shadow 

as a second person who 

sits down on this rock. 

June 11, 1851