P. M. — To Beck Stow's.
Now, perhaps, get thoroughwort. The lecheas in the Great Fields are now turning red, especially the fine one.
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| August 18, 2016 |
looking for the blackberries left after the rain,
the sun warm as ever, but the air cool nevertheless,
I hear the steady (not intermittent) shrilling of apparently the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. Hear it, but see it not.
It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time, suggests a pleasing, thoughtful melancholy, like the sound of the flail. Such preparation, such an outfit has our life, and so little brought to pass!
Hear a faint-warbling bird amid birches and pines. Clear-yellow throat and breast, greenish-yellow head, conspicuous white bar on wings, white beneath, forked tail, bluish legs. Can it be pine warbler? The note, thus faint, is not like it. See black and white creeper.
Yellow Bethlehem-star yet, and indigo.
Saw yesterday and some days before a monster aphis some five eighths of an inch long on a huckleberry leaf. I mistook it, as before, for a sort of loose-spun cocoon. It was obovate, indistinctly ribbed, of long, loose, white, streaming down, but being touched it recoiled and, taken off the leaf, rolled itself into a ball. The father of all the aphides.
OEnothera pumila still.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 18, 1856
I hear the steady shrilling of . . . the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. See August 15, 1852 ("That clear ring like an alder locust (is it a cricket ?) for some time past is a sound which belongs to the season."); August 4, 1856 (" Have heard the alder cricket some days. The turning-point is reached."); August 4, 1851 ("I hear the note of a cricket, and am penetrated with the sense of autumn.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Cricket in August
It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time . . . so little brought to pass! See August 18, 1853 ("What means this sense of lateness that so comes over one now, — as if the rest of the year were down-hill, and if we had not performed anything before, we should not now? . . .The year is full of warnings of its shortness, as is life. The sound of so many insects and the sight of so many flowers affect us so,. . . They say, 'For the night cometh in which no man may work.'"); . August 18, 1851 ("It plainly makes men sad to think. Hence pensiveness is akin to sadness") See also July 31, 1856 ("I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years."); August 20, 1858 ("This weather is a preface to autumn. There is more shadow in the landscape than a week ago, methinks, and the creak of the cricket sounds cool and steady. The grass and foliage and landscape generally are of a more thought-inspiring color, suggest what some perchance would call a pleasing melancholy. "); August 29, 1854 ("Early for several mornings I have heard the sound of a flail. It leads me to ask if I have spent as industrious a spring and summer as the farmer, and gathered as rich a crop of experience.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Midsummer midlife blues
It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time, suggests a pleasing, thoughtful melancholy, like the sound of the flail. Such preparation, such an outfit has our life, and so little brought to pass!
Hear a faint-warbling bird amid birches and pines. Clear-yellow throat and breast, greenish-yellow head, conspicuous white bar on wings, white beneath, forked tail, bluish legs. Can it be pine warbler? The note, thus faint, is not like it. See black and white creeper.
Yellow Bethlehem-star yet, and indigo.
Saw yesterday and some days before a monster aphis some five eighths of an inch long on a huckleberry leaf. I mistook it, as before, for a sort of loose-spun cocoon. It was obovate, indistinctly ribbed, of long, loose, white, streaming down, but being touched it recoiled and, taken off the leaf, rolled itself into a ball. The father of all the aphides.
OEnothera pumila still.
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 18, 1856
I hear the steady shrilling of . . . the alder cricket, clear, loud, and autumnal, a season sound. See August 15, 1852 ("That clear ring like an alder locust (is it a cricket ?) for some time past is a sound which belongs to the season."); August 4, 1856 (" Have heard the alder cricket some days. The turning-point is reached."); August 4, 1851 ("I hear the note of a cricket, and am penetrated with the sense of autumn.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Cricket in August
It reminds me of past autumns and the lapse of time . . . so little brought to pass! See August 18, 1853 ("What means this sense of lateness that so comes over one now, — as if the rest of the year were down-hill, and if we had not performed anything before, we should not now? . . .The year is full of warnings of its shortness, as is life. The sound of so many insects and the sight of so many flowers affect us so,. . . They say, 'For the night cometh in which no man may work.'"); . August 18, 1851 ("It plainly makes men sad to think. Hence pensiveness is akin to sadness") See also July 31, 1856 ("I hear the distant sound of a flail, and thoughts of autumn occupy my mind, and the memory of past years."); August 20, 1858 ("This weather is a preface to autumn. There is more shadow in the landscape than a week ago, methinks, and the creak of the cricket sounds cool and steady. The grass and foliage and landscape generally are of a more thought-inspiring color, suggest what some perchance would call a pleasing melancholy. "); August 29, 1854 ("Early for several mornings I have heard the sound of a flail. It leads me to ask if I have spent as industrious a spring and summer as the farmer, and gathered as rich a crop of experience.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Midsummer midlife blues
Yellow Bethlehem-star yet. [Hypoxis erecta, or Hypoxis hirsuta, commonly known as yellow or common star-grass] See June 5, 1851 ("The Hypoxis erecta, yellow Bethlehem-star . . . should be called yellow-eyed grass, methinks."); June 5, 1855 ("Yellow Bethlehem-star in prime."); August 24, 1853 ("Yellow Bethlehem-star still.")
Indigo. See July 17, 1852 ("Some fields are covered now with tufts or clumps of indigo- weed, yellow with blossoms."); July 25, 1853 ("Bunches of indigo, still in bloom, more numerously than anywhere that I remember"); August 6, 1858 ("indigo, ' ' 'is still abundantly in bloom. "); August 17, 1851 ("Indigo-weed still in bloom by the dry wood-path-side,")
A monster aphis some five eighths of an inch long on a huckleberry leaf. See August 26, 1856 ("Another monster aphis on a huckleberry leaf.")
August 18. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau August 18
A sound reminds me.
Past autumns, lapse of time – so
little brought to pass.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Past autumns and the lapse of time
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
https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560818
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