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
The floor of Conant's
leafy woods by the spring now
sprinkled with sunlight.
I eat these berries
as simply and naturally
as thoughts come to mind.
Earliest star seen
before the red is deepest
in the horizon.
Sun warm on my back
I turn round and shade my face --
a beautiful life.
The clear and fresh
the fairness of the landscape
this fine afternoon.
With each fresh varnish
we frequent our oldest haunts
with new reverence.
Now after the rain
swallows in numbers skimming
over the river.
 |
| July 21, 2014 |
To go forth before the heat is intolerable, and see what is the difference between forenoon and afternoon. July 21, 1851
It seems there is a little more coolness in the air; there is still some dew, even on this short grass in the shade of the walls and woods; and a feeling of vigor the walker has. July 21, 1851
It threatens to be a hot day, and the haymakers are whetting their scythes in the fields, where they have been out since 4 o'clock. By 2 o'clock it will be warmer and hazier, obscuring the mountains, July 21, 1851
There are few sounds but the slight twittering of swallows, and the springy note of the sparrow in the grass or trees, and a lark in the meadow (now at 8 A.M.), and the cricket under all to ally the hour to night. Day is, in fact, about as still as night. July 21, 1851
A rainy day; half an inch of rain falls, spoiling much hay. This is so wet a season that the grass is still growing fast and most things are very fresh. July 21, 1860
Some pigeons here are resting in the thickest of the white pines during the heat of the day, migrating, no doubt. July 21, 1851.
A red-eyed vireo nest on a red maple on Island Neck, on meadow-edge, ten feet from ground; one egg half hatched and one cowbird’s egg, nearly fresh, a trifle larger. July 21, 1855.
These hot afternoons I go panting through the close sprout-lands and copses, as now from Cliff Brook to Wheeler meadow, and occasionally come to sandy places a few feet in diameter where the partridges have dusted themselves. July 21, 1856.
This has been a peculiarly fine afternoon. When I looked about casually, was surprised at the fairness of the landscape. July 21, 1856.
Some pigeons here are resting in the thickest of the white pines during the heat of the day, migrating, no doubt. July 21, 1851.
A red-eyed vireo nest on a red maple on Island Neck, on meadow-edge, ten feet from ground; one egg half hatched and one cowbird’s egg, nearly fresh, a trifle larger. July 21, 1855.
These hot afternoons I go panting through the close sprout-lands and copses, as now from Cliff Brook to Wheeler meadow, and occasionally come to sandy places a few feet in diameter where the partridges have dusted themselves. July 21, 1856.
This has been a peculiarly fine afternoon. When I looked about casually, was surprised at the fairness of the landscape. July 21, 1856.
We frequent our oldest haunts with new love and reverence and sail into new ports with each fresh varnish of the air. July 21, 1856
Went, in pursuit of boys who had stolen my boat-seat, to Fair Haven. Plenty of berries there now, — large huckleberries, blueberries, and blackberries. July 21, 1853
A quarter of a mile is distance enough to make the atmosphere look blue now. It was fit that I should see an indigo-bird here, concerned about its young, a perfect embodiment of the darkest blue that ever fills the valleys at this season. July 21, 1851
The mountains can scarcely be seen for the blue haze, -- only Wachusett and the near ones. July 21, 1851
I eat these berries as simply and naturally as thoughts come to my mind. July 21, 1851
The small purple orchis, its spikes half opened. July 21, 1851.
Now, after the rain, the sun coming forth brightly, the swallows in numbers are skimming low over the river just below the junction. July 21, 1860
I now return through Conant's leafy woods by the spring, whose floor is sprinkled with sunlight. July 21, 1851
Went, in pursuit of boys who had stolen my boat-seat, to Fair Haven. Plenty of berries there now, — large huckleberries, blueberries, and blackberries. July 21, 1853
A quarter of a mile is distance enough to make the atmosphere look blue now. It was fit that I should see an indigo-bird here, concerned about its young, a perfect embodiment of the darkest blue that ever fills the valleys at this season. July 21, 1851
The mountains can scarcely be seen for the blue haze, -- only Wachusett and the near ones. July 21, 1851
The pontederia on the Assabet is a very fresh and clear blue to-day, and in its early prime, — very handsome to see. July 21, 1859
The meadow-grass reflecting the light has a bluish cast also. July 21, 1851
Low blackberries thick enough to pick in some places, three or four days. July 21, 1856.
Low blackberries thick enough to pick in some places, three or four days. July 21, 1856.
The small purple orchis, its spikes half opened. July 21, 1851.
Now, after the rain, the sun coming forth brightly, the swallows in numbers are skimming low over the river just below the junction. July 21, 1860
The sun is now warm on my back, and when I turn round I have to shade my face with my hands. July 21, 1853
Never yet did I chance to sit in a house, except my own house in the woods, and hear a wood thrush sing. July 21, 1851
The river is perfectly smooth, reflecting the golden sky and the red, for there is a bright and general golden or amber glow from the upper atmosphere in the west. July 21, 1852
I see the earliest star fifteen or twenty minutes before the red is deepest in the horizon. . . .Do we perceive such a deep Indian red after the first starlight at any other season as now in July? July 21, 1852
July 17, 1852 ("Swallows are active throughout this rain.")
July 18, 1852 ("The pontederias are now in their prime . . .They are very freshly blue. In the sun, when you are looking west, they are of a violaceous blue.")
July 20, 1852 ("And now, when we had thought the day birds gone to roost, the wood thrush takes up the strain.")
August 19, 1854 (“There is such a haze we see not further than our Annursnack, which is blue as a mountain”)
August 30, 1856 (“[T]here are square rods in Middlesex County as purely primitive and wild as they were a thousand years ago, which have escaped the plow and the axe and the scythe and the cranberry-rake, little oases of wildness in the desert of our civilization, wild as a square rod on the moon, supposing it to be uninhabited. I believe almost in the personality of such planetary matter, feel something akin to reverence for it.")
August 31. 1852 ("The pond, so smooth and full of reflections after a dark and breezy day, is unexpectedly beautiful.")
Never yet did I chance to sit in a house, except my own house in the woods, and hear a wood thrush sing. July 21, 1851
I am entering Fair Haven Pond. It is now perfectly still and smooth, like dark glass. Yet the westering sun is very warm. 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. There is no more beautiful part of the river than the entrance to this pond. July 21, 1853
Ten minutes before sunset I see large clear dewdrops at the tips, or half an inch below the tips, of the pontederia leaves. July 21, 1853
The river is perfectly smooth, reflecting the golden sky and the red, for there is a bright and general golden or amber glow from the upper atmosphere in the west. July 21, 1852
At evening lakes and rivers become thus placid. Evert dimple made by a fish or insect is betrayed. July 21, 1852
I see the earliest star fifteen or twenty minutes before the red is deepest in the horizon. . . .Do we perceive such a deep Indian red after the first starlight at any other season as now in July? July 21, 1852
*****
July 21,2019
***** A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau:
March 18, 1858 ("When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round and am for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue scalloped rim. “);
June 18, 1858 (“To Walden to see a bird's nest, a red-eye's, in a small white pine; nest not so high as my head; still laying ”)
July 16, 1851 ("It is a world of orchards and small-fruits now. The season of fruits is arrived.")
July 18, 1852 ("The pontederias are now in their prime . . .They are very freshly blue. In the sun, when you are looking west, they are of a violaceous blue.")
August 19, 1854 (“There is such a haze we see not further than our Annursnack, which is blue as a mountain”)
August 30, 1856 (“[T]here are square rods in Middlesex County as purely primitive and wild as they were a thousand years ago, which have escaped the plow and the axe and the scythe and the cranberry-rake, little oases of wildness in the desert of our civilization, wild as a square rod on the moon, supposing it to be uninhabited. I believe almost in the personality of such planetary matter, feel something akin to reverence for it.")
August 31. 1852 ("The pond, so smooth and full of reflections after a dark and breezy day, is unexpectedly beautiful.")
July 21, 2013
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.
July 20 < <<<<< July 21 >>>>> July 22
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, July 21
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 © 2009-2023
https://tinyurl.com/HDT21JULY
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