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 sun, round and red,
is soon completely concealed
by the haze alone.
 |
| August 25, 2017 |
Methinks the truly weather-wise will know themselves and find the signs of rain in their own moods, the aspect of their own skies or thoughts, and not consult swallows and spiders. August 25, 1852.
Yesterday was a hot day, but oh, this dull, cloudy, breezy, thoughtful weather in which the creak of the cricket sounds louder, preparatory to a cheerful storm! August 25, 1852
It has been cool and especially windy from the northwest since the 19th, inclusive, but is stiller now. August 25, 1858
What a salad to my spirits is this cooler, darker day! August 25, 1852
I hear no birds sing these days, only the plaintive note of young bluebirds, or the peep of a robin, or the scream of a jay, to whom all seasons are indifferent, August 25, 1852
The note of a warbling vireo sounds very rare. August 25, 1858
The mew of a catbird, the link link of a bobolink, or the twitter of a goldfinch, all faint and rare. August 25, 1852.
Mountain-ash berries partly turned. Again see, I think, purple finch eating them. August 25, 1859
I count about one hundred and fifty cowbirds about eight cows, running before their noses and . . . occasionally flying to keep up with a cow, over the heads of the others, and following off after a single cow. August 25, 1855
When all go off in a whirring (rippling?) flock at my approach, the cow (about whom they were all gathered) looks off after them for some time, as if she felt deserted. August 25, 1855
The mew of a catbird, the link link of a bobolink, or the twitter of a goldfinch, all faint and rare. August 25, 1852.
Mountain-ash berries partly turned. Again see, I think, purple finch eating them. August 25, 1859
I count about one hundred and fifty cowbirds about eight cows, running before their noses and . . . occasionally flying to keep up with a cow, over the heads of the others, and following off after a single cow. August 25, 1855
When all go off in a whirring (rippling?) flock at my approach, the cow (about whom they were all gathered) looks off after them for some time, as if she felt deserted. August 25, 1855
I see, after the rain, when the leaves are rustling and glistening in the cooler breeze and clear air, quite a flock of (apparently) Fringilla socialis in the garden. August 25, 1859.
I think I never saw the haze so thick as now, at 11 A.M., looking from my attic window. August 25, 1854
Between me and Nawshawtuct is a very blue haze like smoke. Indeed many refer all this to smoke. August 25, 1854
We still continue to have strong wind in the middle of the day. The sun is shorn of his beams by the haze before 5 o'clock P.M., round and red, and is soon completely concealed, apparently by the haze alone. August 25, 1854
This blue haze is not dissipated much by the night, but is seen still with the earliest light. August 25, 1854
Opposite the bath place, the pools are nearly all dry, and many little pollywogs, an inch long, lie dead or dying together in the moist mud. August 25, 1854
The fruit of the Viburnum Lentago is now very handsome, with its sessile cymes of large elliptical berries, green on one side and red with a purple bloom on the other or exposed side, not yet purple, blushing on one cheek. August 25, 1852.
Many pyrus leaves are now red in the swamps, and some Viburnum nudum August 25, 1852
One of the most noticeable wild fruits at present is the Viburnum nudum berries, their variegated cymes amid the green leaves in the swamps or low grounds, some whitish, some greenish, some red, some pink, some rose-purple and very beautiful, — not so beautiful, however, off the bush, — some dark purple or blue, and some black whose bloom is rubbed off, — a very rich sight. August 25, 1852
The Viburnum nudum berries, in various stages, — green, deep-pink, and also deep-blue, not purple or ripe, — are very abundant at Shadbush Meadow. They appear to be now in their prime and are quite sweet, but have a large seed. August 25, 1854
I think I never saw the haze so thick as now, at 11 A.M., looking from my attic window. August 25, 1854
Between me and Nawshawtuct is a very blue haze like smoke. Indeed many refer all this to smoke. August 25, 1854
We still continue to have strong wind in the middle of the day. The sun is shorn of his beams by the haze before 5 o'clock P.M., round and red, and is soon completely concealed, apparently by the haze alone. August 25, 1854
This blue haze is not dissipated much by the night, but is seen still with the earliest light. August 25, 1854
Opposite the bath place, the pools are nearly all dry, and many little pollywogs, an inch long, lie dead or dying together in the moist mud. August 25, 1854
The fruit of the Viburnum Lentago is now very handsome, with its sessile cymes of large elliptical berries, green on one side and red with a purple bloom on the other or exposed side, not yet purple, blushing on one cheek. August 25, 1852.
Many pyrus leaves are now red in the swamps, and some Viburnum nudum August 25, 1852
One of the most noticeable wild fruits at present is the Viburnum nudum berries, their variegated cymes amid the green leaves in the swamps or low grounds, some whitish, some greenish, some red, some pink, some rose-purple and very beautiful, — not so beautiful, however, off the bush, — some dark purple or blue, and some black whose bloom is rubbed off, — a very rich sight. August 25, 1852
The Viburnum nudum berries, in various stages, — green, deep-pink, and also deep-blue, not purple or ripe, — are very abundant at Shadbush Meadow. They appear to be now in their prime and are quite sweet, but have a large seed. August 25, 1854
Interesting for the various colors on the same bush and in the same cluster. August 25, 1854
Also the choke-berries are very abundant there, but mostly dried black. August 25, 1854
I see a mouse on the dry hillside this side of Clamshell. It is evidently the short-tailed meadow mouse, or Arvicola hirsuta. August 25, 1858
Plucked a Lilium Canadense at three-ribbed goldenrod wall, six and eight twelfths feet high, with a pyramid of seed-vessels fourteen inches long by nine wide August 25, 1857
I gather from Nut Meadow Brook, not far below the road, a potamogeton . . . It is still out. Has handsome broad, grassy immersed leaves and somewhat elliptic floating ones. August 25, 1858
Silvery cinquefoil now begins to show itself commonly again. Perhaps it is owing to the rain, spring like, which we have in August. August 25, 1856
The dandelion blooms again. August 25, 1852
Also the choke-berries are very abundant there, but mostly dried black. August 25, 1854
I see a mouse on the dry hillside this side of Clamshell. It is evidently the short-tailed meadow mouse, or Arvicola hirsuta. August 25, 1858
Plucked a Lilium Canadense at three-ribbed goldenrod wall, six and eight twelfths feet high, with a pyramid of seed-vessels fourteen inches long by nine wide August 25, 1857
I gather from Nut Meadow Brook, not far below the road, a potamogeton . . . It is still out. Has handsome broad, grassy immersed leaves and somewhat elliptic floating ones. August 25, 1858
Silvery cinquefoil now begins to show itself commonly again. Perhaps it is owing to the rain, spring like, which we have in August. August 25, 1856
The dandelion blooms again. August 25, 1852
Cyperus strigosus under Clamshell Hill, that yellowish fuzzy headed plant, five to twelve inches high, now apparently in prime. August 25, 1858
The silky cornel is the most common everywhere, bordering the river and swamps, its drooping cymes of amethystine (?) china or glass beads mingled with whitish. August 25, 1852
.
The great bittern is still about, but silent and shy. August 25, 1852
As I row by, see a green bittern nearby standing erect on Monroe's boat. Finding that it is observed, it draws in its head and stoops to conceal itself. . . . When it flies it seems to have no tail. August 25, 1860
I paddle directly across the meadow, the river is so high,. . . Almost every stem which rises above the surface has a grasshopper or caterpillar upon it. Some have seven or eight grasshoppers,. . .; some stems are bent down by their weight. August 25, 1856
How much life is drowned out that inhabits about the roots of the meadow-grass! How many a family, perchance, of short-tailed meadow mice has had to scamper or swim! August 25, 1856
The river-meadow cranberries are covered deep. . . . They will probably be spoiled, and this crop will fail. August 25, 1856
Potatoes, too, in the low land on which water has stood so long, will rot. August 25, 1856
Why is the black willow so strictly confined to the bank of the river? August 25, 1856
What the little regular, rounded, light-blue flower in Heywood Brook? Also the small purplish flower growing on the mud in Hubbard's meadow, with one pistil? August 25, 1851
Checkerberry in bloom. August 25, 1851.
Blue-eyed grass still. August 25, 1851
Rhus copallina, mountain or dwarf sumach. I now know all of the Rhus genus in Bigelow. August 25, 1851
I am struck by the rank growth of weeds at this season. August 25, 1853
Passing over Tuttle’s farm . . . fire-weeds (senecio), thoroughwort, Eupatorium purpureum, and giant asters, etc., suggest a vigor in the soil. August 25, 1853
What is the use, in Nature's economy, of these occasional floods in August? Is it not partly to preserve the meadows open? August 25, 1856
I cross the meadows in the face of a thunder-storm rising very dark in the north.. . . It comes on rapidly, with vivid lightning striking the northern earth and heavy thunder following. August 25, 1856
Just before, and in the shadow of, the cloud, I see, advancing majestically with wide circles over the meadowy flood, a fish hawk and, apparently, a black eagle (maybe a young white-head).August 25, 1856
They soon disappear southwest, cutting off a bend. The thunder-shower passed off to the southeast. August 25, 1856
See a large hen-hawk sailing over Hubbard's meadow and Clamshell, soaring very high and toward the north. August 25, 1860
What is the use, in Nature's economy, of these occasional floods in August? Is it not partly to preserve the meadows open? August 25, 1856
I cross the meadows in the face of a thunder-storm rising very dark in the north.. . . It comes on rapidly, with vivid lightning striking the northern earth and heavy thunder following. August 25, 1856
Just before, and in the shadow of, the cloud, I see, advancing majestically with wide circles over the meadowy flood, a fish hawk and, apparently, a black eagle (maybe a young white-head).August 25, 1856
They soon disappear southwest, cutting off a bend. The thunder-shower passed off to the southeast. August 25, 1856
See a large hen-hawk sailing over Hubbard's meadow and Clamshell, soaring very high and toward the north. August 25, 1860
At last it returns southward, at that height impelling itself steadily and swiftly forward, with its wings set without apparent motion, it thus moves half a mile directly. August 25, 1860
I was surprised to see the whole outline and greater part of the base of Wachusett, though you stand in a low meadow. August 25, 1853
I was surprised to see the whole outline and greater part of the base of Wachusett, though you stand in a low meadow. August 25, 1853
Wachusett from Fair Haven Hill, August 2, 1852
It is a fuller view of this mountain than many of our hills afford. Seen through this lower stratum, the mountain is a very dark blue. August 25, 1853
At length, before sundown, it begins to rain. You can hardly say when it began, and now, after dark, the sound of it dripping and pattering without is quite cheering. August 25, 1852
It is long since I heard it. August 25, 1852
We have had no serious storm since spring. August 25, 1852
One of those serious and normal storms ~ not a shower which you can see through, not a transient cloud that drops rain ~ something regular, a a fall rain, coincident with a different mood or season of the mind. August 25, 1852
Copious rain at last, in the night and during the day. August 25, 1859
How grateful to our feelings is the approach of autumn! August 25, 1852
How grateful to our feelings is the approach of autumn! August 25, 1852
A cheering fall rain
brings a different mood or
season of the mind.
August 25, 2023
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau:
*****
January 26, 1852 ("Would you see your mind, look at the sky. Would you know your own moods, be weather-wise.")
March 31, 1853 ("It is affecting to see a distant mountain-top,. . . still as blue and ethereal to your eyes as is your memory of it.')
July 6, 1851 ("Blue-eyed grass is now rarely seen. ")
July 21, 1851 ("The mountains can scarcely be seen for the blue haze, -- only Wachusett and the near ones.")
July 30, 1856 ("A green bittern crosses in my rear with heavy flapping flight, its legs dangling, not observing me. It looks deep slate-blue above, yellow legs, whitish streak along throat and breast, and slowly plows the air with its prominent breast-bone, like the stake-driver.")
August 2, 1856 ("A green bittern comes, noiselessly flapping, with stealthy and inquisitive looking to this side the stream and then that . . There is a sympathy between its sluggish flight and the sluggish flow of the stream,.— its slowly lapsing flight,")
August 7, 1858 ("The most luxuriant groves of black willow are on the inside curves, —but rarely ever against a firm bank or hillside, the positive male shore.")
August 7, 1853 ("The birds for some weeks have not sung as in the spring. Do I not already hear the jays with more distinctness, as in the fall and winter?")
August 9, 1856 (“The notes of the wood pewee and warbling vireo are more prominent of late, and of the goldfinch twittering over.”)
August 10, 1856 ("Rhus copallina not yet for two or three days.")
August 10, 1854 ("The tinkling notes of goldfinches and bobolinks which we hear nowadays are of one character and peculiar to the season.");August 10, 1856 ("Rhus copallina not yet for two or three days.")
August 13, 1854 ("Now the mountains are concealed by the dog-day haze ”)
August 15, 1853 ("Now it is cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains, and. . .I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, the effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air.")
August 15, 1858 (“I notice the black willows . . . to see where they grow, distinguishing ten places. In seven instances they are on the concave or female side distinctly.”)August 19, 1854 (“There is such a haze we see not further than our Annursnack, which is blue as a mountain.”)
August 19, 1858 (“I noticed the localities of black willows as far up as the mouth of the river in Fair Haven Pond, but not so carefully as elsewhere, and from the last observations I infer that the willow grows especially and almost exclusively in places where the drift is most likely to lodge, as on capes and points and concave sides of the river, though I noticed a few exceptions to my rule.”)
August 19, 1853 ("After more rain, with wind in the night, it is now clearing up cool. There is a broad, clear crescent of blue in the west, slowly increasing, and an agreeable autumnal coolness")
August 20, 1853 ("This day, too, has that autumnal character. I am struck by the clearness and stillness of the air, ")
August 20, 1858 ("It is still cool weather with a northwest wind. This weather is a preface to autumn")
August 21, 1854 ("Red choke-berries are dried black; ripe some time ago. ")
August 21, 1852 ("There are as few or fewer birds heard than flowers seen.")
August 19, 1853 ("After more rain, with wind in the night, it is now clearing up cool. There is a broad, clear crescent of blue in the west, slowly increasing, and an agreeable autumnal coolness")
August 20, 1853 ("This day, too, has that autumnal character. I am struck by the clearness and stillness of the air, ")
August 20, 1858 ("It is still cool weather with a northwest wind. This weather is a preface to autumn")
August 21, 1854 ("Red choke-berries are dried black; ripe some time ago. ")
August 21, 1852 ("There are as few or fewer birds heard than flowers seen.")
August 22, 1853 ("A blue jay screams, and one or two fly over.")
August 22, 1853 ("I hear but few notes of birds these days; no singing, but merely a few hurried notes or screams or twittering or peeping. . . . not sounds enough to disturb the general stillness.")August 22, 1854 ("The haze is so thick that we can hardly see more than a mile.")
August 23, 1859 ("In the river meadows the blue-eyed grass was very generally cut off and is now conspicuously black, — I find but one in bloom")August 23, 1858 (“Viburnum nudum berries, apparently but a day or two.”)
August 23, 1853 ("An hour before sundown, I am struck with nothing so much as the autumnal coolness of the landscape and the predominance of shade")
August 23, 1853 ("An hour before sundown, I am struck with nothing so much as the autumnal coolness of the landscape and the predominance of shade")
August 24, 1854 ("Now, methinks, hawks are decidedly more common, beating the bush and soaring. I see two circling over the Cliffs.")
August 24, 1853 ("Another cool, autumn-like morning, also quite foggy")August 24, 1854 ('To-night, as for at least four or five nights past, and to some extent, I think, a great many times within a month, the sun goes down shorn of his beams, half an hour before sunset, round and red, high above the horizon. There are no variegated sunsets in this dog-day weather.')
August 26, 1854 ("I hear of a great many fires around us, far and near, both meadows and woods; in Maine and New York also. There may be some smoke in this haze, but I doubt it.")
August 26, 1856 ("More wind and quite cold this morning, but very bright and sparkling, autumn-like air,")
August 28, 1853 ("A cool, white, autumnal evening.")
August 28, 1853 ("The berries of the dwarf sumach are not a brilliant crimson.")
August 28, 1854 ("I think that haze was not smoke;")
August 30, 1854 ("The clearness of the air makes it delicious to gaze in any direction.")
August 31, 1856 ("The Viburnum nudum berries are now in prime, a handsome rose-purple. I brought home a bunch of fifty-three berries, all of this color, and the next morning thirty were turned dark purple. In this state they are soft and just edible, having somewhat of a cherry flavor, not a large stone.")
August 31, 1858 ("At Goose Pond I scare up a small green bittern. It plods along low, a few feet over the surface, with limping flight, and alights on a slender water-killed stump, and voids its excrement just as it starts again, as if to lighten itself.")
August 31, 1855 ("Passed in boat within fifteen feet of a great bittern, standing perfectly still in the water by the riverside, with the point of its bill directly up, as if it knew that from the color of its throat, etc., it was much less likely to be detected in that position, near weeds.")
August 31, 1858 ("At Goose Pond I scare up a small green bittern. It plods along low, a few feet over the surface, with limping flight, and alights on a slender water-killed stump, and voids its excrement just as it starts again, as if to lighten itself.")
August 31, 1855 ("Passed in boat within fifteen feet of a great bittern, standing perfectly still in the water by the riverside, with the point of its bill directly up, as if it knew that from the color of its throat, etc., it was much less likely to be detected in that position, near weeds.")
September 1, 1854 (" A still, cloudy, misty day, through which has fallen a very little rain this forenoon already. Now I notice a few faint-chipping sparrows, busily picking the seeds of weeds in the garden.")
September 3, 1856 ("Gather four or five quarts of Viburnum nudum berries, now in their prime, attracted more by the beauty of the cymes than the flavor of the fruit. The berries, which are of various sizes and forms, — elliptical, oblong, or globular, — are in different stages of maturity on the same cyme, and so of different colors, — green or white, rose-colored, and dark purple or black, — i. e. three or four very distinct and marked colors, side by side.. . . Remarkable for passing through so many stages of color before they arrive at maturity.")
September 4, 1853 ("Hear a warbling vireo, — something rare");
September 4, 1853 ("Hear a warbling vireo, — something rare");
September 6, 1854 ("There is now approaching from the west one of the heaviest thunder-showers (apparently) and with the most incessant flashes that I remember to have seen. ")
September 11, 1852 ("These fall rains are a peculiarity of the season")
September 11, 1852 ("These fall rains are a peculiarity of the season")
September 13, 1858 ("Hear many warbling vireos these mornings")
September 14, 1859 ("The mountain sumach . . . berries are a hoary crimson and not bright like those of the smooth.")
September 16, 1852 ("The jay screams; the goldfinch twitters; the barberries are red. The corn is topped. I hear a warbling vireo in the village, which I have not heard for long.")
September 16, 1852 ("The jay screams; the goldfinch twitters; the barberries are red. The corn is topped. I hear a warbling vireo in the village, which I have not heard for long.")
September 18, 1854 ("Viburnum nudum in flower again.")
September 20, 1857 ("This is our first fall rain, and makes a dividing line between the summer and fall.")
September 20, 1857 ("This is our first fall rain, and makes a dividing line between the summer and fall.")
September 20, 1853 (It rained very hard while we were aboard the steamer.")
September 20, 1854 ("Windy rain-storm last night");
September 20, 1856 ("Rain in afternoon. Rain again in the night, hard.");
September 20, 1860 ("Rainy in forenoon.")
September 27, 1853 ("From our native hills we look out easily to the far blue mountains, which seem to preside over them.")
September 20, 1854 ("Windy rain-storm last night");
September 20, 1856 ("Rain in afternoon. Rain again in the night, hard.");
September 20, 1860 ("Rainy in forenoon.")
September 27, 1853 ("From our native hills we look out easily to the far blue mountains, which seem to preside over them.")
October 2, 1856 ("The mountain sumach now a dark scarlet quite generally.")
November 13, 1851("The mountains are of an uncommonly dark blue to-day. Perhaps this is owing . . . to the greater clearness of the atmosphere, which brings them nearer")
December 27, 1853 ("The outline of the mountains is wonderfully distinct and hard, and they are a dark blue and very near. Wachusett looks like a right whale over our bow, plowing the continent, with his flukes well down")
November 13, 1851("The mountains are of an uncommonly dark blue to-day. Perhaps this is owing . . . to the greater clearness of the atmosphere, which brings them nearer")
December 27, 1853 ("The outline of the mountains is wonderfully distinct and hard, and they are a dark blue and very near. Wachusett looks like a right whale over our bow, plowing the continent, with his flukes well down")
August 25, 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.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, August 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
https://tinyurl.com/HDT25August
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