The leaves of the oaks and hickories have begun to be browned.

October 26. 

P. M. —To Conantum. 

Another clear cold day, though not so cold as yesterday. The light and sun come to us directly and freely, as if some obstruction had been removed,—the windows of heaven had been washed.

I see some farmers now cutting up their corn. 

The sweet Viburnum leaves hang thinly on the bushes and are a dull crimsonish red. 

What apples are left out now, I presume that the farmers do not mean to gather. 

The witch-hazel is still freshly in flower, and near it I see a houstonia in bloom. 

The hillside is slippery with new-fallen white pine leaves. 

The leaves of the oaks and hickories have begun to be browned, — lost their brilliancy.

I return by way of the mocker-nut trees. The squirrels have already begun on them, though the trees are still covered with yellow and brown leaves, and the nuts do not fall.

A little this side I see a red squirrel dash out from the wall, snatch an apple from amid many on the ground, and, running swiftly up the tree with it, proceed to eat it, sitting on a smooth dead limb, with its back to the wind and its tail curled close over its back.

The song sparrow still sings on a button-bush.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, October 26, 1855

What apples are left out now, I presume that the farmers do not mean to gather. See October 25, 1855 (“Now gather all your apples, if you have not before, or the frost will have them.”)

The song sparrow still sings on a button-bush.  SeeOctober 16, 1855 ("Then, nearer home, I hear two or three song sparrows on the button-bushes sing as in spring, — that memorable tinkle, — as if it would be last as it was first."); October 27, 1853 ("Song sparrows flitting about, with the three spots on breast.")