Corner road, by brook.

August 24.

P. M. — To Conantum.

The small sempervirens blackberry in prime in one place. 

Aster puniceus and Diplopappus umbellatus, how long? 

Calamagrostis coarctata not quite, end of Hubbard's meadow wood-path. 

Panicum virgatum, say two or three weeks. 

Leersia, or cut-grass, some time, roadside, Corner road, by brook.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, August 24, 1859

The small sempervirens blackberry in prime in one place. August 15, 1852 ("The swamp blackberry begins."); August 23, 1856 ("At the Lincoln bound hollow, Walden, there is a dense bed of the Rubus hispidus, matting the ground seven or eight inches deep, and full of the small black fruit, now in its prime. It is especially abundant where the vines lie over a stump. Has a peculiar, hardly agreeable acid."); September 7, 1858 ("J. Farmer calls those Rubus sempervirens berries, now abundant, 'snake blackberries.'") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Blackberries

Aster puniceus how long? See August 11, 1856 ("Aster puniceus a day or more."); August 30, 1856 (" The Aster puniceus is hardly yet in prime; its great umbel-shaped tops not yet fully out."); October 7, 1857 ("Crossing Depot Brook, I see many yellow butterflies fluttering about the Aster puniceus, still abundantly in bloom there.”); November 5. 1855 ("Crossing the Depot Field Brook, I observe the downy, fuzzy globular tops of the Aster puniceus. They are slightly tinged with yellow, compared with the hoary gray of the goldenrod.")

Calamagrostis coarctata not quite, end of Hubbard's meadow wood-path. See August 13, 1860 ("Calamagrostis coarctata, not quite.")

Panicum virgatum, say two or three weeks. See September 7, 1858 ("In Shad-bush Meadow the prevailing grasses (not sedges) now are the slender Panicum clandestinum, whose seeds are generally dropped now, Panicum virgatum, in large tufts, and blue-joint")

Leersia, or cut-grass, some time, roadside, Corner road, by brook. See September 1, 1858 ("At the pool by the oaks behind Pratt’s . . . Leersia oryzoides, false rice, or rice cut-grass, is abundant and in prime on the shore there. Also find it on the shore of Merrick’s pasture. It has very rough sheaths.")

Thus gradually and successively each plant lends its richest color to the general effect, and in the fittest place, and passes away

September 12. 

Sunday. P. M. — To Cliffs.

The handsome crimson-tipped hazelnut burs now and for some time have reminded us that it was time to gather these nuts. They are worth gathering, if only to see the rich color of the fruit brought together in a quantity.

Lycopodium complanatum, how long? 

Have seen the pigeon’s-egg fungus in pastures some time. 

Yew berries still hold on. 

The cinnamon fern has begun to yellow and wither. How rich in its decay! Sic transit gloria mundi! Die like the leaves, which are most beautiful in their decay. 

Thus gradually and successively each plant lends its richest color to the general effect, and in the fittest place, and passes away. Amid the October woods we hear no funereal bell, but the scream of the jay. Coming to some shady meadow’s edge, you find that the cinnamon fern has suddenly turned this rich yellow. Thus each plant surely acts its part, and lends its effect to the general impression. 

See petty morel berries ripe. 

Woodsia llvensis under the cave at Cliffs in fruit. 

Very heavy rain all yesterday afternoon, and to-day it is somewhat cooler and clearer and the wind more northwesterly, and I see the unusual sight of ripples  or waves curving up-stream off Cardinal Shore, so that the river might seem to be flowing that way. 

The mountains are of a darker blue. 

The spring on the west side of Fair Haven Hill is nearly dry; there is no stream flowing from it. What a disappointment to a herd of cows to find their accustomed spring dry! 

Even in that little hollow on the hill side, commonly moistened by the spring, grow the soft rush, rhyncospora, etc. What an effect a little moisture on a hillside produces, though only a rod square! The Juncaceoe and Cyperaceoa soon find it out and establish themselves there. 

The Panicum filiforme is very abundant in that old mullein-field of Potter’s, by the Corner road. Its slender culms are purple, and, seen in the right light, where they stand thick, they give a purple gleam to the field. More purple far than the P. sanguinale. 

Some small red maples by water begun to redden. 

In Hubbard’s ditched meadow, this side his grove, I see a great many large spider’s webs stretched across the ditches, about two feet from bank to bank, though the thick woven part is ten or twelve inches. They are parallel, a few inches or a foot or more apart, and more or less vertical, and attached to a main cable stretched from bank to bank. They are the yellow-backed spider, commonly large and stout but of various sizes. I count sixty-four such webs there, and in each case the spider occupies the centre, head downward. This is enough, methinks, to establish the rule. They are not afraid of turning their brains then. Many insects must be winging their way over this small river. It reminds me of the Indians catching ducks at Green Bay with nets in old times.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, September 12, 1858

Lycopodium complanatum, how long? See August 31, 1857  ("Lycopodium complanatum out, how long?")

Yew berries still hold on. See August 10, 1858 ("Am surprised to find the yew with ripe fruit (how long ?),. . . It fruits very sparingly, the berries growing singly here and there, on last year’s wood, and hence four to six inches below the extremities of the upturned twigs. It is the most surprising berry that we have")

The cinnamon fern has begun to yellow and wither. See September 27, 1857 ("The large common ferns (either cinnamon or interrupted) are yellowish, and also many as rich a deep brown now as ever."); September 6, 1854("The cinnamon ferns along the edge of woods next the meadow are many yellow or cinnamon, or quite brown and withered.")

Woodsia llvensis under the cave at Cliffs in fruit. See September 4, 1857 ("The sides of Cornus florida Ravine at Bateman’s Pond are a good place for ferns. There is a Woodsia Ilvensis, a new one to Concord. ")

How silent are the footsteps of Spring!

March 30

March 30, 2016

P. M. — To Walden and Fair Haven. 

Still cold and blustering. I come out to see the sand and subsoil in the Deep Cut, as I would to see a spring flower, some redness in the cheek of Earth.

These cold days have made the ice of Walden dry and pretty hard again at top. It is just twenty-four inches thick in the middle, about eleven inches of snow ice. It has lost but a trifle on the surface. The inside is quite moist, the clear ice very crystalline and leaky, letting the water up from below, so as to hinder my cutting. It seems to be more porous and brittle than the snow ice. 

I go to Fair Haven via the Andromeda Swamps. The snow is a foot and more in depth there still. There is a little bare ground in and next to the swampy woods at the head of Well Meadow, where the springs and little black rills are flowing. I see already one blade, three or four inches long, of that purple or lake grass, lying flat on some water, between snow—clad banks, — the first leaf with a rich bloom on it. 

How silent are the footsteps of Spring! 

There, too, where there is a fraction of the meadow, two rods over, quite bare, under the bank, in this warm recess at the head of the meadow, though the rest of the meadow is covered with snow a foot or more in depth, I am surprised to see the skunk cabbage, with its great spear-heads open and ready to blossom (i. e. shed pollen in a day or two); and the Caltha palustris bud, which shows yellowish; and the golden saxifrage, green and abundant; also there are many fresh tender leaves of (apparently) the gold thread in open meadow there, all surrounded and hemmed in by snow, which has covered the ground since Christmas and stretches as far as you can see on every side; and there are as intense blue shadows on the snow as I ever saw. 

The spring advances in spite of snow and ice, and cold even. 

The ground under the snow has long since felt the influence of the spring sun, whose rays fall at a more favorable angle. The tufts or tussocks next the edge of the snow were crowned with dense phalanxes of stiff spears of the stiff triangularish sedge-grass, five inches high but quite yellow with a very slight greenness at the tip, showing that they pushed up through the snow, which melting, they had not yet acquired color. This is the greatest growth of any plant I have seen. I had not suspected any. 

I can just see a little greening on our bare and dry south bank. In warm recesses and clefts in meadows and rocks in the midst of ice and snow, nay, even under the snow, vegetation commences and steadily advances. 

I find Fair Haven Pond and the river lifted up a foot or more, the result of the long, steady thaw in the sun. The water of the pond and river has run over the meadows, mixing with and partly covering the snow, making it somewhat difficult to get into the river on the east side. On the east side of the pond, the ice next the shore is still frozen to the bottom under water by one edge, while the other slants upward to meet the main body of the ice of the pond. This sort of canal on one or both sides of the river is from a rod to three or four rods wide. This is the most decided step toward breaking up as yet.

But the pond and river are very solid yet. I walk over the pond and down on the middle of the river to the bridge, without seeing an opening. 

See probably a hen-hawk (?) (black tips to wings), sailing low over the low cliff next the river, looking probably for birds. [May have been a marsh hawk or harrier.] 

The south hillsides no sooner begin to be bare, and the striped squirrels and birds resort there, than the hawks come from southward to prey on them. I think that even the hen-hawk is here in winter only as the robin is. 

For twenty-five rods the Corner road is impassable to horses, because of their slumping in the old snow; and a new path has been dug, which a fence shuts off the old. Thus they have served the roads on all sides the town.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 30, 1856

See probably a hen hawk (?) ... may have been a marsh hawk or harrier. See March 27, 1855 (“See . . . [the hen-barrier, i.e. marsh hawk, male.] Slate-colored; . . . black tips to wings and white rump.”); March 29, 1854 ("See two marsh hawks (?), white on rump... think I saw a hen-hawk”);  March 6, 1858 ("I see the first hen-hawk, or hawk of any kind, methinks, since the beginning of winter."); March 15, 1860 ("These hawks[hen-hawks], as usual, began to be common about the first of March, showing that they were returning from their winter quarters. . . . An easily recognized figure anywhere.”); March 23, 1859 (“. . .we saw a hen-hawk perch on the topmost plume of one of the tall pines at the head of the meadow. Soon another appeared, probably its mate, but we looked in vain for a nest there. It was a fine sight, their soaring above our heads, presenting a perfect outline and, as they came round, showing their rust-colored tails with a whitish rump, or, as they sailed away from us, that slight teetering or quivering motion of their dark-tipped wings seen edgewise, now on this side, now that, by which they balanced and directed themselves.”).  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The hen-hawk. Note What HDT calls the "marsh hawk/hen harrier" is the northern harrier.   The “hen-hawk” is the red-tailed  hawk. ~ zphx

The south hillsides no sooner begin to be bare, and the striped squirrels and birds resort there, than the hawks come from southward to prey on them. See March 30, 1853 ("Hawks are hunting now. You have not to sit long on the Cliffs before you see one.") 

The snow is a foot and more in depth there still. See February 19, 1856 (" seventeen or eighteen inches deep on a level."); March 26, 1857 ("Men will hardly believe me when I tell them of the thickness of snow and ice at this time last year.")

Man comes out of his

winter quarters this month as

lean as a woodchuck.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,  How silent are the footsteps of Spring!

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 © 2009-2025

*****

Rob and Eldred cut down trees at both views it really has improved things, the view spectacular but it is a sad day for the trees there is of course a jumble at the base. We survey the upper view around sunset. And somehow in the dark coming to the Moss Trail up the trail we go and then made a trail at the top of it I thought towards our land but when we left the marked area we walked and walked and talked and said she frankly didn't know where we were I got out the compass and we were headed east we found the main  Kendall trail and presently she said I think we should cut through here we come out somewhat south of where we usually do to ascend what I call the Saddletrail and go to sit at the view again. 20160330 Zphx

What a solid winter we have had! All the town still under deep snow and ice

March 18

March 18, 2016

March 18, 2026

P. M. — Up river. 

It is still quite tight at Hubbard’s Bath Bend and at Clamshell, though I hesitate a little to cross at these places. There are dark spots in the soft, white ice, which will be soon worn through. 

What a solid winter we have had! No thaw of any consequence; no bare ground since December 25th; but an unmelting mass of snow and ice, hostile to all greenness. Have not seen a green radical leaf even, as usual, all being covered up. 

Nut Meadow Brook is open for a dozen rods from its mouth, and for a rod into the river. Higher up, it is still concealed by a snowy bridge two feet thick. 

I see the ripples made by some fishes, which were in the small opening at its mouth, making haste to hide themselves in the ice-covered river. This square rod and one or two others like it in the town are the only places where I could see this phenomenon now. Thus early they appear, ready to be the prey of the fish hawk. 

Within the brook I see quite a school of little minnows, an inch long, amid or over the bare dead stems of polygonums, and one or two little water-bugs (apple seeds). The last also in the broad ditch on the Corner road, in Wheeler’s meadow. 

Notwithstanding the backwardness of the season, all the town still under deep snow and ice, here they are, in the first open and smooth water, governed by the altitude of the sun. 

I see many small furrows, freshly made, in the sand at the bottom of the brook, from half an inch to three quarters wide, which I suspect are made by some small shellfish already moving, perhaps Paludina! 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 18, 1856

It is still quite tight at Hubbard’s Bath Bend and at Clamshell. See March 10, 1856 ("There is no opening yet in the main stream at Prichard's, Hubbard Bath, or the Clamshell, or probably anywhere but at Merrick's, and that a dozen rods long by. ten feet; and it is tight and strong under the bridges.")

Nut Meadow Brook is open for a dozen rods from its mouth. See February 1, 1856 ("Nut Meadow Brook open for some distance in the meadow. I was affected by the sight of some green polygonum leaves there. Some kind of minnow darted off.")

I see the ripples made by some fishes . . . making haste to hide themselves in the ice-covered river. See February 1, 1856 (“Nut Meadow Brook open for some distance in the meadow. I am affected by the sight of some green polygonum leaves there. Some kind of minnow darts off.”);  February 25, 1856 ("Am surprised to see some little minnows only an inch long in an open place in Well Meadow Brook."); March 9, 1854 ("I detect the trout minnows not an inch long by their quick motions or quirks, soon concealing themselves"); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: Ripples made by Fishes

One or two little water-bugs (apple seeds). See March 10, 1855 (" When on the 6th I saw the gyrinus at Second Division Brook, I saw no peculiarity in the water or the air to remind me of them, but to-day they are here and yesterday they were not. I go looking deeper for tortoises, when suddenly my eye rests on these black circling apple seeds in some smoother bay.); See also A Book of the Seasons , by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring, the water-bug (Gyrinus)

Notwithstanding the backwardness of the season . . . here they are. . .  governed by the altitude of the sun. See March 18, 1853 ("The season is so far advanced that the sun affects me as I have not been affected for a long time."); March 15, 1853 ("Notwithstanding this day is so cold . . . the sidewalks melt in the sun, such is its altitude.”);  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring: the new warmth of the sun 

Many small furrows, freshly made, in the sand at the bottom of the brook. . . made by some small shellfish already moving, perhaps Paludina. See March 20, 1856 ("Where I saw those furrows in the sand in Nut Meadow Brook the other day, I now explore, and find within a square foot or two half a dozen of Paludina decisa with their feet out . . .Maybe it is the love season."); March 22, 1856 ("Crows .. . visit the edge of water—this and brooks —before any ground is exposed. Is it for small shellfish?"); March 22, 1860 ("The phenomena of an average March . . .trout glance in the brooks, brook minnows are seen; see furrows on sandy bottoms, and small shell snails copulate")

March 18. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, March 18

  

 The small opening 

 in the ice-covered river –

ripples made by fish.

Furrows in the sand 

at the bottom of the brook –

     perhaps small shell snails. 

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau,  What a solid winter we have had! 

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 ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560318

I respect the skunk as a human being in a very humble sphere.

March 10

See a skunk in the Corner road, which I follow sixty rods or more. Out now about 4 p. m., — partly because it is a dark, foul day.

It is a slender black (and white) animal, with its back remarkably arched, standing high behind and carrying its head low; runs, even when undisturbed, with singular teeter or undulation, like the walking of a Chinese lady. Very slow; I hardly have to run to keep up with it. 

It has a long tail, which it regularly erects when I come too near and prepares to discharge its liquid. It is white at the end of the tail, and the hind head and a line on the front of the face, — the rest black, except the flesh-colored nose (and I think feet).  

It tries repeatedly to get into the wall, and does not show much cunning. Finally it steers apparently, for an old skunk or wood-chuck hole under a wall four rods off, and gets into it, — or under the wall, at least, — for it is stopped up, — and there I view at leisure close to. 

It has a remarkably long, narrow, pointed head and snout, which enable it to make those deep narrow holes in the earth by which it probes for insects. Its eyes have an innocent, childlike, bluish-black expression. 

It makes a singular loud patting sound repeatedly, on the frozen ground under the wall, undoubtedly with its fore feet (I saw only the upper part of the animal), which reminds me of what I have heard about your stopping and stamping in order to stop the skunk. Probably it has to do with its getting its food, — patting the earth to get the insects or worms. Though why it does so now I know not. 

Its track is small, round, showing the nails, a little less than an inch in diameter, alternate five or six inches by two or two and a half, sometimes two feet together. 

There is something pathetic in such a sight, — next to seeing one of the human aborigines of the country. 

I respect the skunk 

as a human being in a 

very humble sphere. 

I have no doubt they have begun to probe already where the ground permits, — or as far as it does. But what have they eat all winter?

The weather is almost April-like. We always have much of this rainy, drizzling, misty weather in early spring, after which we expect to hear geese. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 10, 1854

I have no doubt they have begun to probe already where the ground permits. See February 24, 1857 ("I have seen the probings of skunks for a week or more. “); February 26, 1860 ("They appear to come out commonly in the warmer weather in the latter part of February.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; Skunks Active

This rainy, drizzling, misty weather in early spring, after which we expect to hear geese. See  March 14, 1854 ("From within the house at 5.30 p. m. I hear the loud honking of geese, throw up the window, and see a large flock in disordered harrow flying more directly north or even northwest than usual. Raw, thick, misty weather.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Signs of the Spring; Geese Overhead

March 10.  See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau March 10

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, A Skunk in the Corner Road.

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-540310

Already we begin to anticipate spring (a crossroad in the year of light).

February 2

Another warm, melting day, like yesterday. You can see some softening and relenting in the sky. 

We go up the Corner road and take the ice at Potter's Meadow. The Cliff Hill is nearly bare on the west side, and you hear the rush of melted snow down its side in one place. 

The shade of pines on the snow is in some lights quite blue. 

The ice is about eighteen inches thick on Fair Haven. Saw some pickerel just caught there, with a fine lustre to them. 

Went to the pond in the woods which has an old ditch dug from it near Clematis Brook.  The red twigs of the cornels and the yellow ones of the sallows surrounding it are interesting at this season. We prize the least color now. 

The scream of the jay is a true winter sound. It is wholly without sentiment, and in harmony with winter.

I stole up within five or six feet of a pitch pine behind which a downy woodpecker was pecking. From time to time he hopped round to the side and observed me without fear. They are very confident birds, not easily scared, but incline to keep the other side of the bough to you , perhaps. 

As it is a melting day, the snow is everywhere peppered with snow-fleas, even twenty rods from the woods, on the pond and meadows. 

We stop awhile under Bittern Cliff, the south side, where it is very warm. There are a few greenish radical leaves to be seen, — primrose and johnswort, strawberry, etc., and spleenwort still green in the clefts. 

The winter gnat is seen in the warm air. 

February 2, 2014

Already we begin to anticipate spring, and this is an important difference between this time and a month ago. We begin to say that the day is springlike. 

Is not January the hardest month to get through? When you have weathered that, you get into the gulfstream of winter, nearer the shores of spring.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, February 2, 1854

Saw some pickerel just caught there, with a fine lustre to them. See January 29, 1853 ("Pickerel of at least three different forms and colors were lying on the ice of Walden this afternoon:") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Pickerel

The scream of the jay is a true winter sound. See February 12, 1854 ("the unrelenting steel-cold scream of a jay, unmelted, that never flows into a song, a sort of wintry trumpet, screaming cold; hard, tense, frozen music, like the winter sky itself; in the blue livery of winter's band. It is like a flourish of trumpets to the winter sky.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Blue Jay

A downy woodpecker was pecking . . .he hopped round to the side and observed me without fear. See December 14, 1855 ("I heard the sound of a downy woodpecker tapping a pitch pine in a little grove, and saw him inclining to dodge behind the stem.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Downy Woodpecker

As it is a melting day, the snow is everywhere peppered with snow-fleas. See January 30, 1860 ("The snow-flea seems to be a creature whose summer and prime of life is a thaw in the winter. . . .It is the creature of the thaw. Moist snow is its element. ."); February 11, 1854 ("Snow-fleas lie in black patches on the ice which froze last night. When I breathe on them I find them all alive and ready to skip") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,the Snow-flea

The winter gnat is seen in the warm air.  See January 6, 1854 ("A winter (?) gnat out on the bark of a pine");  March 2, 1860 ("We see one or two gnats in the air."); March 19, 1858 ("Are not these the winter gnat? They keep up a circulation in the air like water-bugs on the water."); See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Fuzzy Gnats (tipulidæ)

We begin to say that the day is springlike. See March 2, 1859 (“We thus commonly antedate the spring more than any other season, for we look forward to it with more longing. We talk about spring as at hand before the end of February, and yet it will be two good months, one sixth part of the whole year, before we can go a-maying. There may be a whole month of solid and uninterrupted winter yet”);  March 20, 1855 ("It is remarkable by what a gradation of days which we call pleasant and warm, beginning in the last of February, we come at last to real summer warmth. At first a sunny, calm, serene winter day is pronounced spring, or reminds us of it; and then the first pleasant spring day perhaps we walk with our greatcoat buttoned up and gloves on.”); April 26, 1860 ("What we should have called a warm day in March is a cold one at this date in April.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February Belongs to Spring

February 2. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, February 2

A true winter sound

wholly without sentiment –

the scream of the jay.

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

Already we begin to anticipate spring. 

This crossroad of light

in the gulfstream of winter

near the shores of spring.

Last night the snow was perfect for walking and fresh enough but not too fresh to reveal the abundance of life in the woods. So many tracks.  Out there in the dark I feel --  I think for the first time -- the hidden vital presence of all the woodland creatures.

Groundhog day is a crossroad in the year of light -- and one can feel it.  These earlier mornings and later nights, the memory of the dark is tugging. i could have survived worse. But the coming light and spring is inevitable.

these late winter days

the light is early

the snow, the cold, the dark

no longer a threat

now the deep solitude of winter

is a parting friend

winter lingers

one last wet kiss.

20120224

I am inspired to revisit my "Seasons" project. My book begins in early February and ends in late February because February is both spring and winter.

I have also spent part of the weekend on my quantum physics study, making a spreadsheet of dates and discoveries. And going back to reread Einstein's 1905  paper "On a heuristic point of view concerning the production and transformation of light":

The wave theory of light, with continuous spatial functions, leads to contradictions when applied to the phenomena of the emmission and transformation of light

According to the assumption considered here, in the propagation of a light ray emitted from a point source, the energy is not distributed continuously over ever increasing volumes of space, but consists of a finite number of energy quanta localized at points of space that move without dividing, and can be absorbed or generated only as complete units.

Still no one understands it. Here is Freeman Dyson in a recent blog :

Unfortunately, people writing about quantum mechanics often use the phrase “collapse of the wave-function” to describe what happens when an object is observed. This phrase gives a misleading idea that the wave-function itself is a physical object. A physical object can collapse when it bumps into an obstacle. But a wave-function cannot be a physical object. A wave-function is a description of a probability, and a probability is a statement of ignorance. Ignorance is not a physical object, and neither is a wave-function. When new knowledge displaces ignorance, the wave-function does not collapse; it merely becomes irrelevant.

It seems age 24 or 26 is the cutoff for making any discoveries in physics.  I am going to read more biographies but so far the story is over by chapter 3 and the rest is just a question of how and when will he die / loose integrity.

zphx

February 2, 2014

tinyurl.com/hdt18540204

Signs of Winter

November 1. 

As I go up the back road, I am struck with the general stillness as far as birds are concerned. There is now no loud, cheerful effervescing with song as in the spring. Most are gone. I only hear some crows toward the woods. 

The road and ruts are all frosted and stiff, and the grass and clover leaves. At Swamp Bridge, I see crystals of ice six feet long, like very narrow and sharp spears, or like great window-sashes without glass between them, floating on the water. 

Now that the sun is fairly risen, I see and hear a flock of larks in Wheeler's meadow on left of the Corner road, singing exactly as in spring and twittering also, but rather faintly or suppressedly, as if their throats had grown up or their courage were less. 

The white birch seeds begin to fall and leave the core bare. 

I now hear a robin, and see and hear some noisy and restless jays, and a song sparrow chips faintly. 

As I paddle under the Leaning Hemlocks, the breeze rustles the boughs, and showers of their fresh winged seeds come wafted down to the water and are carried round and onward in the great eddy there. 

While getting the azaleas, I notice the shad-bush conspicuously leafing out. Those long, narrow, pointed buds, prepared for next spring, have anticipated their time. 

As I return, I notice crows flying southwesterly in a very long straggling flock, of which I see probably neither end.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, November 1, 1853

The white birch seeds begin to fall and leave the core bare. See  November 4, 1860 ("White birch seed has but recently begun to fall. I see a quarter of an inch of many catkins bare. May have begun for a week. The birch begins to shed its seed about the time our winter birds arrive from the north.") 

A song sparrow chips faintly. See October 26, 1855 (“The song sparrow still sings on a button-bush.”)

Showers of their fresh winged seeds come wafted down. . . See October 31, 1853 ("The hemlock seeds are apparently ready to drop from their cones.”); October 15, 1856 ("A great part of the hemlock seeds fallen."); October 13, 1859 ("The hemlock seed is now in the midst of its fall, some of it, with the leaves, floating on the river.")

I notice the shad-bush conspicuously leafing out. See October 13, 1859 ("The swamp amelanchier is leafing again, as usual."); November 4, 1854 (“The shad-bush buds have expanded into small leaflets already.”).

Crows flying southwesterly in a very long straggling flock, of which I see probably neither end.  November 1, 1851("Counted one hundred and twenty five crows in one straggling flock moving westward."); see also October 20, 1859 ("I see a large and very straggling flock of crows fly southwest from over the hill behind Bull's and contending with the strong and cold northwest wind. This is the annual phenomenon. They are on their migrations."); October 29, 1855 ("I see and count about a hundred crows advancing in a great rambling flock from the southeast and crossing the river on high, and cawing."); October 29, 1857 ("A flock of about eighty crows flies ramblingly over toward the sowing, cawing and loitering and making a great ado, apparently about nothing.") Compare March 5, 1854 ("And crows, as I think, migrating northeasterly. They come in loose, straggling flocks, about twenty to each, commonly silent, a quarter to a half a mile apart, till four flocks have passed, perhaps more. Methinks I see them going southwest in the fall.") Also A Book of Seasons, by Henry Thoreau: The American Crow

How to spend this afternoon.

April 29.

The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.

The leaves are dry enough to burn; and I see a smoke this afternoon in the west horizon. There is a slight haziness on the woods, as I go to Mayflower Road at 2:30 P.M.

The ground is dry. I smell the dryness of the woods. Their shadows look more inviting, and I am reminded of the hum of bees.

The pines have an appearance they have not worn before, yet not easy to describe. The mottled sunlight and shade, seen looking into the woods, is more like summer. 

At the Second Division Brook the cowslip is in blossom. 

The butterflies are now more numerous, red and blue-black or dark velvety. 

Observe two thrushes arrived that I do not know. 

Discover a hawk over my head by his shadow on the ground.

The acorns among the leaves are sprouted, the shells open and the blushing (red) meat exposed at the sprout end, where the sprout is already turning toward the earth. 

Coming home over the Corner road, the sun, now getting low, is reflected very bright and silvery from the water on the meadows, seen through the pines of Hubbard's Grove. 

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 29, 1852

The art of life, not having anything to do, is to do something. See September 2, 1851 ("It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart.");; January 12, 1852 ("Do the things which lie nearest to you – but which aredifficult to do."); September 13, 1852 ("To the . . . idle man, the stillness of a placid September day sounds like the din and whirl of a factory. Only employment can still this din in the air."); September 8, 1858 ("It is good policy to be stirring about your affairs, for the reward of activity and energy is that if you do not accomplish the object you had professed to yourself, you do accomplish something else.”); and note to September 7, 1851: ("I do not remember any page which will tell me how to spend this afternoon.”); See also December 29, 1841 ("One does not soon learn the trade of life. That one may work out a true life requires more art and delicate skill than any other work.") and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, To effect the quality of the day

At the Second Division Brook [o]bserve two thrushes arrived that I do not know. See note to April 24, 1856 ("Returning, in the low wood just this side the first Second Division Brook, near the meadow, see a brown bird flit, and behold my hermit thrush, with one companion, flitting silently through the birches”)

Discover a hawk over my head by his shadow on the ground. See September 27, 1857 ("I see the shadow of a hawk flying above and behind me.”)

The art of life – not 

having anything to do –

is to do something.