The coolness of the morning';the earth-song of the cricket.

June 17.

Thursday. 4 a. m. — To Cliffs.

No fog this morning.

At early dawn, the windows being open, I hear a steady, breathing, cricket-like sound from the chip-bird (?), ushering in the day. Perhaps these mornings are the most memorable in the year, — after a sultry night and before a sultry day, — when, especially, the morning is the most glorious season of the day, when its coolness is most refreshing and you enjoy the glory of the summer gilded or silvered with dews, without the torrid summer's sun or the obscuring haze.

The sound of the crickets at dawn after these first sultry nights seems like the dreaming of the earth still continued into the daylight. I love that early twilight hour when the crickets still creak right on with such dewy faith and promise, as if it were still night, — expressing the innocence of morning, — when the creak of the cricket is fresh and bedewed. While the creak of the cricket has that ambrosial sound, no crime can be committed. It buries Greece and Rome past resurrection.

The earth-song of the cricket ! Before Christianity was, it is. Health! health! health! is the burden of its song.

It is, of course, that man, refreshed with sleep, is thus innocent and healthy and hopeful. When we hear that sound of the crickets in the sod, the world is not so much with us.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 17, 1852

No fog this morning. Compare June 17, 1854 ("A cold fog."); June 17, 1860 ("Quite a fog this morning.")

Perhaps these mornings are the most memorable in the year . . . when, especially, the morning is the most glorious season of the day. See Walden (“The morning is the most memorable season of the day, the awakening hour. ”)

The earth-song of the cricket! See June 13, 1851 ("I listen to the ancient, familiar, immortal, dear cricket sound under all others, and as these cease I become aware of the general earth-song.”); July 14, 1851 (“It is a sound from within, not without.You cannot dispose of it by listening to it. In proportion as I am stilled I hear it. It reminds me that I am a denizen of the earth.”); and note to June 4, 1857 ("One thing that chiefly distinguishes this season from three weeks ago is that fine serene undertone or earth-song as we go by sunny banks and hillsides, the creak of crickets, which affects our thoughts so favorably, imparting its own serenity.")

A sultry night.

June 16.

Down railroad. 

Heat lightning in the horizon. A sultry night. 

A flute from some villager. How rare among men so  fit a thing as the sound of a flute at evening! 

The sonorous note of bullfrogs is heard a mile off in the river, the loudest sound this evening. Ever and anon the sound of his trombone comes over the meadows and fields, a-lulling all Concord to sleep. 

Have not the fireflies in the meadow relation to the stars above etincelant? When the darkness comes, we see stars beneath also.  Do not the stars, too, show their light for love, like the fireflies?

There are northern lights, shooting high up withal.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 16, 1852

Have not the fireflies in the meadow relation to the stars? See August 2, 1854 (“Shooting stars are but fireflies of the firmament.”)

A flute from some villager. How rare among men so fit a thing as the sound of a flute at evening! See  June 18, 1852 ("I hear a man playing a clarionet far off.  . . .  There is something glorious and flower-like in it. What a contrast this evening melody with the occupations of the day! It is perhaps the most admirable accomplishment of man."); June 25, 1852 (“Now his day's work is done, the laborer plays his flute, — only possible at this hour. Contrasted with his work, what an accomplishment! . . . He plays some well-known march. But the music is not in the tune; it is in the sound.”);   August 3, 1852  ("I hear the sound of a distant piano. . . .  By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe ...")