Showing posts sorted by date for query glowing cumuli. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query glowing cumuli. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Tuesday, June 27, 2023

A Book of the Seasons: Lightning


 How peaceful great nature!
Henry Thoreau,
October 13, 1852

Wonder, awe
innocence, serenity –
lightning!

How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.
~ Basho


January 25. The elms . . . stand for magnificence; they take the brunt of the tempest; they attract the lightning that would smite our roofs, leaving only a few rotten members scattered over the highway. January 25, 1856 

February 15. A little thunder and lightning late in the afternoon. I see two flashes and hear two claps. February 15, 1861

February 23. About 4 P. M. a smart shower, ushered in by thunder and succeeded by a brilliant rainbow and yellow light from under the dark cloud in the west. Thus the first remarkable heat brings a thunder-shower. February 23, 1860

March 8. Lightning this evening, after a day of successive rains. March 8, 1854

March 13. Rainbow in east this morning. March 13, 1855

March 16. It is warm weather. A thunder-storm in the evening. March 16, 1854

March 25. To speak of the general phenomena of March . . . The 9th, it is quite warm, with a southwest wind. The first lightning is seen in the horizon by one who is out in the evening. March 25, 1860

April 6. The first lightning I remember this year was in the rain last evening, quite bright; and the thunder followed very long after. A thunder-shower in Boston yesterday. April 6, 1853

April 9. With April showers, me thinks, come rainbows. Why are they so rare in the winter? April 9, 1855

April 13Hear the first toad in the rather cool rain, 10 A. M. See through the dark rain the first flash of lightning, in the west horizon, doubting if it was not a flash of my eye at first, but after a very long interval I hear the low rumbling of the first thunder, and now the summer is baptized and inaugurated in due form. Is not the first lightning the forerunner or warranty of summer heat? The air now contains such an amount of heat that it emits a flash. April 13, 1858

April 14. Rains still, with one or two flashes of lightning, but soon over.  April 14, 1858 

April 17Was awakened in the night by a thunder and lightning  shower and hail-storm — the old familiar burst and rumble, as if it had been rumbling somewhere else ever since I heard it last, and had not lost the knack. I heard a thousand hailstones strike and bounce on the roof at once. What a clattering! Yet it did not last long, and the hail took a breathing-space once or twice. I did not know at first but we should lose our windows, the blinds being away at the painters’. These sounds lull me into a deeper slumber than before. Hail-storms are milked out of the first summer-like warmth; they belong to lingering cool veins in the air, which thus burst and come down. The thunder, too, sounds like the final rending and breaking up of winter; thus precipitous is its edge. The first one is a skirmish between the cool rear-guard of winter and the warm and earnest vanguard of summer. Advancing summer strikes on the edge of winter, which does not drift fast enough away, and fire is elicited. Electricity is engendered by the early heats. I love to hear the voice of the first thunder as of the toad (though it returns irregularly like pigeons), far away in his moist meadow where he is warmed to life, and see the flash of his eye. April 17, 1856

April 18. Am overtaken by a sudden sun-shower, after which a rainbow . . .
In the evening hear far and wide the ring of toads, and a thunder-shower with its lightning is seen and heard in the west. April 18, 1855

April 26. A still, warm, overcast day with a southwest wind . . . almost sultry, as if there might be a thunder-shower before night. . . .*9 p. m. — Quite a heavy thunder-shower, The vivid lightning, as I walk the street, reveals the contrast between day and night. The rising cloud in the west makes it very dark and difficult to find my way, when there comes a flash which lights up the street for a moment almost as brightly as the day, far more so than moonlight, and I see a person on the sidewalk before me fifty rods off. April 26, 1854

April 27. Ricketson frequents his shanty by day and evening as much as his house, but does not sleep there, partly on account of his fear of lightning, which he cannot overcome. His timidity in this respect amounts to an idiosyncrasy. I was awaked there in a thunder-storm at midnight by Ricketson rushing about the house, calling to his sons to come down out of the attic where they slept and bolting in to leave a light in my room. His fear of death is equally singular. The thought of it troubles him more perhaps than anything else. He says that he knows nothing about another life, he would like to stay here always. He does not know what to think of the Creator that made the lightning and established death. April 27, 1857

May 9. The first thunder this afternoon. May 9, 1859

May 10. Before night a sudden shower with some thunder and lightning; the first. May 10, 1857

May 10. That season which is bounded on the north, on the spring side at least, by the trump of the bullfrog. . . .. I hear in his tone the rumors of summer heats.. . .and anticipation of the livelong summer to come. It gives leave to the corn to grow and to the heavens to thunder and lighten. . . . The bullfrog is earth's trumpeter, at the head of the terrene band. He replies to the sky with answering thunder. May 10, 1858

May 11. I feel the air cooled and hear the muttering of distant thunder in the northwest and see a dark cloud in that direction indistinctly through the wood. That distant thunder-shower very much cools our atmosphere. I make haste through the woods homeward via Hubbard's Close . . . The shower is apparently going by on the north. There is a low, dark, blue-black arch, crescent-like, in the horizon, sweeping the distant earth there with a dusky, rainy brush. There is an uncommon stillness here, disturbed only by a rush of the wind from time to time. All men, like the earth, seem to wear an aspect of expectation. In the village I meet men making haste to their homes, for, though the heavy cloud has gone quite by, the shower will probably strike us with its tail. Now I have got home there is at last a still cooler wind with a rush, and at last a smart shower, slanting to the ground, without thunder. The rain is over. There is a bow in the east. The earth is refreshed; the grass is wet. The air is warm again and still. The rain has smoothed the water to a glassy smoothness . . . It is surprising what an electrifying effect this shower appears to have had. It is like the christening of the summer. I suspect that summer weather may be always ushered in in a similar manner, — thunder-shower, rainbow, smooth water, and warm night. A rainbow on the brow of summer. May 11, 1854

May 12. I see now, as I go forth on the river, the first summer shower coming up in the northwest, a dark and well defined cloud with rain falling sheaf-like from it, but fortunately moving off northeast along the horizon, or down the river . . . The thunder-cloud is like the ovary of a perfect flower. Other showers are merely staminiferous or barren. There are twenty barren to one fertile. It is not commonly till thus late in the season that the fertile are seen. In the thunder-cloud, so distinct and condensed, there is a positive energy, and I notice the first as the bursting of the pollen-cells in the flower of the sky . . . Already the coarse grass along the meadow shore, or where it is wettest, is a luxuriant green, answering in its deep, dark color to the thunder-cloud, – both summer phenomena, – as if it too had some lightning in its bosom. May 12, 1858

May 13. The third sultry evening in my chamber. A faint lightning is seen in the north horizon. May 13, 1860

May 16. It has been oppressively warm to-day, the first really warm, sultry-like weather, so that we were prepared for a thunder-storm at evening. At 5 P. M., dark, heavy, wet-looking clouds are seen in the northern horizon, perhaps over the Merrimack Valley, and we say it is going down the river and we shall not get a drop. The main body goes by, there is a shower in the north, and the western sky is suffused with yellow where its thin skirts are withdrawing. People stand at their doors in the warm evening, listening to the muttering of distant thunder and watching the forked lightning, now descending to the earth, now ascending to the clouds. This the first really warm day and thunder-shower . . .l We smell the fresher and cooler air from where the storm has passed. And now that it has grown dark, the skirts of the cloud seem to promise us a shower. It lightens incessantly right in the west; the right wing of the rear guard of the storm is steadily advancing and firing, and every flash shows the outlines of the cloud. We look out into the dark, and ever and anon comes a sudden illumination blinding our eyes, like a vast glow-worm, succeeded ere long by the roll of thunder. The first pattering of drops is heard; all west windows are hastily shut. The weak-eyed sit with their backs to windows and close the blinds. But we are disappointed, after all, and each flash reveals a narrow strip of evening red through the thin drops below the advancing cloud. May 16, 1853

May 17. Now the sun has come out after the May storm, how bright, how full of freshness and tender promise and fragrance is the new world! The woods putting forth new leaves; it is a memorable season . . . Does not summer begin after the May storm? May 17, 1852

May 19. There was the first lightning we have noticed this year, last Sunday evening, and a thunder-storm in Walpole, N. H. Lightning here this evening and an aurora in form of a segment of a circle. May 19, 1852

May 20. Very low thunder-clouds and showers far in the north at sunset, the wind of which, though not very strong, has cooled the air. See the lightning, but can not hear the thunder. I see in the northwest first rise, in the rose-tinted horizon sky, a dark, narrow, craggy cloud, narrow and projecting as no cloud on earth, seen against the rose-tinged sky, — the crest of a thunder-storm, beautiful and grand. . May 20, 1854

May 20. Was awaked and put into sounder sleep than ever early this morning by the distant crashing of thunder, and now, — P. M. (to Beck Stow’s),— I hear it in mid-afternoon, muttering, crashing in the muggy air in mid-heaven, a little south of the village as I go through it, like the tumbling down of piles of boards, and get a few sprinkles in the sun. Nature has found her hoarse summer voice again, like the lowing of a cow let out to pasture. It is Nature’s rutting season. Even as the birds sing tumultuously and glance by with fresh and brilliant plumage, so now is Nature’s grandest voice heard, and her sharpest flashes seen. The air has resumed its voice, and the lightning, like a yellow spring flower, illumines the dark banks of the clouds. All the pregnant earth is bursting into life like a mildew, accompanied with noise and fire and tumult. Some oestrus stings her that she dashes headlong against the steeples and bellows hollowly, making the earth tremble. She comes dropping rain like a cow with overflowing udder. The winds drive her; the dry fields milk her. May 20, 1856

May 29. These are afternoons when you expect a thunder-shower before night; the outlines of cloudy cumuli are dimly seen through the hazy, furnace-like air, rising in the west. May 29, 1853

May 29. It lights up a little, and the drops fall thinly again, and the birds begin to sing, but now I see a new shower coming up from the southwest, and the wind seems to have changed somewhat. Already I had heard the low mutterings of its thunder — for this is a thunder- shower — in the midst of the last. It seems to have shifted its quarters merely to attack me on a more exposed side of my castle. Two foes appear where I had expected none. But who can calculate the tactics of the storm? It is a first regular summer thunder-shower, preceded by a rush of wind, and I begin to doubt if my quarters will prove a sufficient shelter. I am fairly besieged and know not when I shall escape. I hear the still roar of the rushing storm at a distance, though no trees are seen to wave. And now the forked flashes descending to the earth succeed rapidly to the hollow roars above, and down comes the deluging rain. I hear the alarmed notes of birds flying to a shelter. The air at length is cool and chilly, the atmosphere is darkened, and I have forgotten the smooth pond and its reflections. The rock feels cold to my body, as if it were a different season of the year. I almost repent of having lingered here; think how far I should have got if I had started homeward. But then what a condition I should have been in! Who knows but the lightning will strike this cliff and topple the rocks down on me? The crashing thunder sounds like the overhauling of lumber on heaven's loft. And now, at last, after an hour of steady confinement, the clouds grow thin again, and the birds begin to sing. They make haste to conclude the day with their regular evening songs (before the rain is fairly over) according to the program. The pepe on some pine tree top was heard almost in the midst of the storm. One or two bullfrogs trump. They care not how wet it is. Again I hear the still rushing, all-pervading roar of the withdrawing storm, when it is at least half a mile off, wholly beyond the pond, though no trees are seen to wave. It is simply the sound of the countless drops falling on the leaves and the ground. You were not aware what a sound the rain made. Several times I attempt to leave my shelter, but return to it. My first stepping abroad seems but a signal for the rain to commence again. Not till after an hour and a half do I escape. May 29, 1857

These are afternoons
when you expect a thunder-
shower before night.
May 29, 1853

May 30. A succession of moderate thunder and lightning storms from the west, two or three, an hour apart. . . .I took refuge from the thunder-shower this afternoon by running for a high pile of wood near Second Division, and while it was raining, I stuck three stout cat-sticks into the pile, higher than my head, each a little lower than the other, and piled large flattish wood on them and tossed on dead pine-tops, making a little shed, under which I stood dry. May 30, 1860

June 2, 2017

June 2. It is very warm till 3 p. m., and then a washing breeze arises, and before night probably distant thunder-showers have cooled the air, for after dark we see the flashes called heat lightning in the north, and hear the distant thunder. June 2, 1857

June 3. It has been a sultry day, and a slight thunder-shower, and now I see fireflies in the meadows at evening. June 3, 1852

June 7. Fireflies pretty numerous over the river, though we have had no thunder-showers of late. June 7, 1858

June 8. Within a day or two has begun that season of summer when you see afternoon showers, maybe with thunder, or the threat of them, dark in the horizon, and are uncertain whether to venture far away or without an umbrella. I noticed the very first such cloud on the 25th of May, — the dark iris of June. When you go forth to walk at 2 p. m. you see perhaps, in the south west or west or maybe east horizon, a dark and threatening mass of cloud showing itself just over the woods, its base horizontal and dark, with lighter edges where it is rolled up to the light, while all beneath is the kind of dark slate of falling rain. These are summer showers, come with the heats of summer. June 8, 1860





June 9. There are some large cumuli with glowing downy cheeks floating about. Now I notice where an elm is in the shadow of a cloud,—the black elm-tops and shadows of June. It is a dark eyelash which suggests a flashing eye beneath. It suggests houses that lie under the shade, the repose and siesta of summer noons, the thunder-cloud, bathing, and all that belongs to summer. June 9, 1856

June 9. We have half a dozen showers to-day, distinct summer showers from black clouds suddenly wafted up from the west and northeast; also some thunder and hail, – large white stones. June 9, 1860

June 11. It is very hot this afternoon, and that peculiar stillness of summer noons now reigns in the woods. I observe and appreciate the shade, as it were the shadow of each particular leaf on the ground. I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade, or of the foliage as seen between you and the sky . . . reminds me of the thunder-cloud and the dark eyelash of summer. Great cumuli are slowly drifting in the intensely blue sky, with glowing white borders. June 11, 1856

June 13. I hear the muttering of thunder and see a dark cloud in the west-southwest horizon; am uncertain how far up-stream I shall get. An opposite cloud rises fast in the east-northeast, and now the lightning crinkles and I hear the heavy thunder. June 13, 1854

June 14. It suddenly begins to rain with great violence, and we in haste draw up our boat on the Clamshell shore, upset it, and get under, sitting on the paddles, and so are quite dry while our friends thought we were being wet to our skins. But we have as good a roof as they. It is very pleasant to lie there half an hour close to the edge of the water and see and hear the great drops patter on the river, each making a great bubble. June 14, 1855

June 15. This is the third afternoon that we have had a rumbling thunder-cloud arise in the east, — not to mention the west, — but all signs have failed hitherto, and I resolve to proceed on my voyage, knowing that I have a tight [roof] in my boat turned up. June 15, 1854

June 15. A thunder-shower in the north goes down the Merrimack. June 15, 1860

June 16 Heat lightning in the horizon. A sultry night. June 16, 1852

June 16. Three days in succession, — the 13th, 14th, and 15th, — thunder-clouds, with thunder and lightning, have risen high in the east, threatening instant rain, and yet each time it has failed to reach us. Thus it is almost invariably, methinks, with thunder-clouds which rise in the east; they do not reach us. June 16, 1854

June 16. Thunder-showers show themselves about 2 P.M. in the west, but split at sight of Concord and go east on each side . . . It appears to me that these phenomena occur simultaneously, say June 12th, viz.: -• Heat about. 85° at 2 P.M.
• Hylodes cease to peep.
• Purring frogs (Rana palustris) cease.
• Lightning-bugs first seen.
• Bullfrogs trump generally.
• Mosquitoes begin to be really troublesome.
• Afternoon thunder-showers almost regular.
• Sleep with open window.
• Turtles fairly and generally begun to lay.
June 16, 1860

June 17. A small thunder-shower comes up in the south-west. The thunder sounds like moving a pile of boards in the attic. We see the increasing outline of the slate-colored falling rain from the black cl
oud. It passes mainly to the south. We feel only the wind of it at first, but after it appears to back up and we get some rain. In the damp, warm evening after the rain, the fireflies appear to be more numerous than ever. June 17, 1852    

June 17. About 1 P.M., notice thunder-clouds in west and hear the muttering. As yesterday, it splits at sight of Concord and goes south and north. Nevertheless about 3 P. M. begins a steady gentle rain here for several hours, and in the night again, the thunder, as yesterday, mostly forerunning or superficial to the shower. This the third day of thunder-showers in afternoon, though the 14th it did not rain here. June 17, 1860

June 19. At this season we apprehend no long storm, only showers with or without thunder.  June 19, 1853

June 19. Suddenly comes the gust, and the big drops slanting from the north, and the birds fly as if rudderless, and the trees bow and are wrenched. It rains against the windows like hail and is blown over the roofs like steam or smoke. It runs down the large elm at Holbrook's and shatters the house near by. June 19, 1854

June 21. I hear the sound of distant thunder, though no cloud is obvious, muttering like the roar of artillery. That is a phenomenon of this season. As you walk at evening, you see the light of the flashes in the horizon and hear the muttering of distant thunder, where some village is being refreshed with the rain denied to Concord. We say that showers avoid us, that they go down the river, i. e. go off down the Merrimack, or keep to the south. Thunder and lightning are remarkable accompaniments to our life, as if to remind us that there always is or should be a kind of battle waging. The thunder is signal guns to us. June 21, 1852

June 22. The far-retreated thunder-clouds low in the southeast horizon and in the north, emitting low flashes which reveal their forms. June 22, 1852


June 22, 2015


June 23. It is . . . an agreeably cool and clear and breezy day, when all things appear as if washed bright and shine . . . The air is cleared and cooled by yesterday's thunder-storms. The river too has a fine, cool, silvery sparkle or sheen on it. June 23, 1852

June 27. All the phenomena of nature need be seen from the point of view of wonder and awe, like lightning; and, on the other hand, the lightning itself needs to be regarded with serenity, as the most familiar and innocent phenomena are. June 27, 1852

June 29At 6 P.M. 91°, the hottest yet. A thunder-shower has passed northeast and grazed us, and at 6.30 or 7, another thunder-shower comes up from the southwest and there is a sudden burst from it with a remarkably strong, gusty wind, and the rain for fifteen minutes falls in a blinding deluge. The roof of the depot shed is taken off, many trees torn to pieces, the garden flooded at once, corn and potatoes, etc., beaten flat. You could not see distinctly many rods through the rain. It was the very strong gusts added to the weight of the rain that did the mischief. I think I never saw it rain so hard. Thus our most violent thunder-shower followed the hottest hour of the month. June 29, 1860 

June 29, 2013 6:23 PM



July 10. Every hour we expect a thundershower to cool the air, but none comes. July 10, 1852

July 12. . The clouds, cumuli, lie in high piles along the southern horizon, glowing, downy, or cream-colored, broken into irregular summits in the form of bears erect, or demigods, or rocking stones, infant Herculeses; and still we think that from their darker bases a thunder-shower may issue. July 12, 1852

July 13. Very hot weather . . . I hear before I start the distant mutterings of thunder in the northwest, though I see no cloud. The haymakers are busy raking their hay, to be ready for a shower. They would rather have their grass wet a little than not have the rain. I keep on, regardless of the prospect J. . . I make haste home, expecting a thunder-shower, which we need, but it goes by. July 13, 1857

Gentle steady rain
without thunder or lightning —
the first summer rain.


July 19. The wind rises more and more. The river and the pond are blacker than the threatening cloud in the south. The thunder mutters in the distance. The surface of the water is slightly rippled . . . The woods roar. Small white clouds [hurry] across the dark-blue ground of the storm. July 19, 1851

July 20. 
A thunder-shower in the night . . . The clap which waked me last night was as if some one was moving lumber in an upper apartment, some vast hollow hall, tumbling it down and dragging it over the floor; and ever and anon the lightning filled the damp air with light, like some vast glow-worm in the fields of ether opening its wings. July 20, 1851  

July 20. A muttering thunder-cloud in northwest gradually rising and with its advanced guard hiding in the sun and now and then darting forked lightning. The wind rising ominously also drives me home again. At length down it comes upon the thirsty herbage, beating down the leaves with grateful, tender violence and slightly cooling the air. How soon it sweeps over and we see the flash in the southeast! July 20, 1854

Darting forked lightning,
a muttering thunder-cloud
drives me home again.

July 23, 2014

July 23. See a thunder-cloud coming up in northwest, but as I walk and wind in the woods, lose the points of compass and cannot tell whether it is travelling this way or not. At length the sun is obscured by its advance guard, but, as so often, the rain comes, leaving thunder and lightning behind. July 23, 1854

July 24Now, at 2 p. m., I hear again the loud thunder and see the dark cloud in the west. 


Some small and nearer clouds are floating past, white against the dark-blue distant one.  July 24, 1854

July 29. Another smart rain, with lightning. July 29, 1856

July 29. We passed near a pine on its shore which had been splintered by lightning, perhaps the day before. The Maine Woods (“Wednesday, July 29 [1857]. When we awoke it had done raining,")

July 30. Caught in a thunder-shower, when south of Flint's Pond. It is a grand sound, that of the rain on the leaves of the forest a quarter of a mile distant, approaching. July 30, 1852 

July 30. See the lightning on the telegraph battery and hear the shock about sundown from our window -- an intensely bright white light.  July 30, 1855

July 31.You are liable to be overtaken by a thunder-shower these afternoons. July 31, 1858

August 4. [Monadnock] Lightning is seen far in the south. Cloud, drifting cloud, alternate with moonlight all the rest of the night. August 4, 1860

August 6. Copious and continuous rain in the night, deluging, soaking rain, with thunder and lightning, beating down the crops; and this morning it is cooler and clearer and windier. August 6, 1856

August 8. Rain, lightning, and thunder all day long in torrents. The ground was already saturate
d on the night of the 5th, and now it fills all gutters and low grounds. No sooner has one thunder-shower swept over and the sky begun to light up a little, than another darkens the west. We were told that lightning clears the air and so clears itself, but now we lose our faith in that theory, for we have thunder after thunder-shower and lightning is become a drug. Nature finds it just as easy to lighten the last time as at first, and we cannot believe that the air was so very impure. August 8, 1856

August 9. Notwithstanding the very copious rain, with lightning, on the night of August 5th and the deluge which fell yesterday, raising the river still higher, it rained again and again with very vivid lightning, more copiously than ever, last night, and without long intervals all this day. Few, if any, can remember such a succession of thunder-storms merged into one long thunder-storm, lasting almost continuously (the storm does) two nights and two days. August 9, 1856

I hear muttering
of thunder as the first drops
dimple the river.

August 25. 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 . . .
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) . . .
They soon disappear southwest, cutting off a bend. The thunder-shower passed off to the southeast. August 25, 1856

August 26 In the evening, some lightning in the horizon, and soon after a little gentle rain. August 26, 1854

August 31 A thunder-cloud, seen from a hilltop, as it is advancing rapidly across the sky on one side, whose rear at least will soon strike us. The dark-blue mass (seen edgewise) with its lighter upper surface and its copious curving rai
n beneath and behind, like an immense steamer holding its steady way to its port, with tremendous mutterings from time to time, a rush of cooler air, and hurried flight of birds. August 31, 1859

Rush of cooler air
and a hurried flight of birds –
dark-blue thunder-cloud.

September 6. 9 P. M. — 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. It must be twenty miles off, at least. for I can hardly hear the thunder at all. The almost incessant flashes reveal the form of the cloud, at least the upper and lower edge of it, but it stretches north and south along the horizon further than we see. Every minute I see the crinkled lightning, intensely bright, dart to earth or forkedly along the cloud. September 6, 1854

September 26. It grieves me to see how rapidly some great trees which have fallen or been felled waste away when left on the ground. There was the large oak by the Assabet, which I remember to have been struck by lightning, and afterward blown over, being dead. It used to lie with its top down-hill and partly in the water and its butt far up. Now there is no trace of its limbs, and the very core of its trunk is the only solid part, concealed within a spongy covering. Soon only a richer mould will mark the spot. September 26, 1855

November 23. In the evening heavy rain and some thunder and lightning, and rain in the night. November 23, 1857


December 26. I passed by the pitch pine that was struck by lightning. I was impressed with awe on looking up and seeing that broad, distinct spiral mark, more distinct even than when made eight years ago, as one might groove a walking-stick, — mark of an invisible and in tangible power, a thunderbolt, mark where a terrific and resistless bolt came down from heaven, out of the harmless sky, eight years ago. It seemed a sacred spot. I felt that we had not learned much since the days of Tullus Hostilius. It at length shows the effect of the shock, and the woodpeckers have begun to bore it on one side. December 26, 1853

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Lightning
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/HDTlightning

Saturday, June 11, 2016

A Book of the Seasons: June 11 (the red-eye sings, drifting clouds, shades of June, seasons of the night)




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



Away from the town 
and deeper into the night –
whip-poor-wills, fire-flies. 

In a moonlight night
I seem to be nearer the
origin of things.
June 11, 1851

I see my shadow 
as a second person who 
sits down on this rock. 

Much like a mirage
a sheet of water revealed 
by its reflections. 

Great cumuli with
glowing white borders slowly 
drifting in the sky.

I observe the shade 
as if the shadow of each 
particular leaf.

June 11, 2018


Saw a sphinx moth night before last. June 11, 1860

Saw yesterday a great yellow butterfly with black marks. June 11, 1856

Another fog this morning. June 11, 1853

Already I see those handsome fungi spots on the red maple leaves, yellow within, with a green centre, then the light-red ring deepening to crimson. June 11, 1860

I now first begin to notice the silvery under sides of the red maple and swamp white oak leaves, turned up by the wind. June 11, 1860

The locust in graveyard shows but few blossoms yet. June 11, 1856

The black willow, having shed its fuzzy seeds and expanded its foliage, now begins to be handsome, so light and graceful. June 11, 1853

The early willows at the bridge are apparently either S. discolor or eriocephala, or both. June 11, 1855

The fertile Salix alba is conspicuous now at a distance, in fruit, being yellowish and drooping. June 11, 1858

The upland fields are already less green where the June-grass is ripening its seeds. They are greenest when only the blade is seen. June 11, 1853

In the sorrel-fields, also, what lately was the ruddy, rosy cheek of health, now that the sorrel is ripening and dying, has become the tanned and imbrowned cheek of manhood. June 11, 1853

Some fields began to be white with whiteweed on the 9th. June 11, 1860

June 11, 2018

The mountains are misty and blue. June 11, 1852

Now observe the dark evergreen of June. June 11, 1855

Hemlocks are about at height of their beauty, with their fresh growth. June 11, 1859

The evergreens are now completely invested by the deciduous trees, and you get the full effect of their dark green contrasting with the yellowish green of the deciduous trees. June 11, 1860

Looking at a hillside of young trees, what various shades of green! The oaks generally are a light and tender and yellowish green; the white birches, dark green now; the maples, dark and silvery. June 11, 1860

I observe and appreciate the shade, as it were the shadow of each particular leaf on the ground. June 11, 1856

Great cumuli are slowly drifting in the intensely blue sky, with glowing white borders. June 11, 1856

June 11, 2019

It reminds me of 
the thunder-cloud and the dark
 eyelash of summer. 
June 11, 1856

How agreeable in a still, cloudy day, when large masses of clouds, equally dispersed, float across the sky, not threatening rain, but preserving a temperate air, to see a sheet of water thus revealed by its reflections, a smooth, glassy mirror, reflecting the light sky and the dark and shady woods. It is very much like a mirage. June 11, 1854

At twelve walk up the Sudbury River above Frank's to Ashland, at first through the meadows, then over the high hills in the vicinity. June 11, 1854

From a high hill on the west of the river, about a mile from Frank's, get a good view of Farm Pond eastward, which empties into the river, with South Framingham on the south east side of it. June 11, 1854

The mosquitoes first troubled me a little last night. June 11, 1853

The air in this pitch pine wood is filled with the hum of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes. June 11, 1852

In one grove pitch pine shoots are from seven to nine tenths as long as last year's growth. June 11, 1859

In order to get the deserted tanager’s nest at the top of a pitch pine which was too weak to climb, we carried a rope in our pockets and took three rails a quarter of a mile into the woods, and there rigged a derrick, by which I climbed to a level with the nest, and I could see if there were eggs in it. June 11, 1855

The cricket sings. June 11, 1852

You must attend to the birds in the spring. June 11, 1852

A robin sings and wood thrush amid the pine. June 11, 1852

The veery reminds me of the wood thrush in its note, as well as form and color. June 11, 1852

Who taught the oven-bird to conceal her nest ? It is on the ground, yet out of sight. What cunning there is in nature ! No man could have arranged it more art fully for the purpose of concealment. Only the escape of the bird betrays it. Early June, 1850

I hear the night warbler breaking out as in his dreams made so from the first for some mysterious reason June 11 1851

Golden crowned thrush (oven-bird) June 11, 1852

The oven-bird and the thrasher sing. The last has a sort of chuckle. June 11, 1852

I hear the bobolink and the lark as I go down the railroad causeway. June 11, 1852
 
There are young bluebirds. June 11, 1855

The red-eye sings now in the woods, perhaps more than any other bird. June 11, 1852

The red-eye sings incessant, and the more indolent yellow-throat vireo, and the creeper, and perhaps the redstart? June 11, 1856

Heard many redstarts on the Island. June 11, 1860

Hear the parti-colored warbler. June 11, 1858

Saw creepers and one wood pewee nest on a swamp white oak, not quite done. June 11, 1860

Probably blackbirds were never less numerous along our river than in these years. June 11, 1853

What a difference between one red-wing blackbird’s egg and another’s! C. finds one long as a robin’s, but narrow, with large black spots on larger end and on side, on or between the bushes by riverside; another much shorter, with a large black spot on the side. Both pale-blue ground. June 11, 1855

Rice tells me he found a turtle dove’s nest on an apple tree near his farm in Sudbury two years ago, with white eggs; so thin a bottom you could see the eggs through. June 11, 1856

Just as we were shoving away from this isle, I heard a sound just like a small dog barking hoarsely, and, looking up, saw it was made by a bittern (Ardea minor), a pair of which were flapping over the meadows and probably had a nest in some tussock thereabouts. June 11, 1860

Examine the stone-heaps . . . but I can find no ova in them. June 11, 1858

See a bream’s nest two and a quarter feet diameter, laboriously scooped out, and the surrounding bottom for a diameter of eight feet (! !) comparatively white and clean . . . while half a dozen shiners are hovering about, apparently watching a chance to steal the spawn. June 11, 1856

I see a musquash dive head foremost (as he is swimming) in the usual way, being scared by me, but without making any noise. June 11, 1858

Near a wall thereabouts, saw a little woodchuck, about a third grown, resting still on the grass within a rod of me, as gray as the oldest are, but it soon ran into the wall. June 11, 1858

A beautiful grass-green snake about fifteen inches long, light beneath, with a yellow space under the eyes along the edge of the upper jaw. June 11, 1856

A painted turtle laying, at 5 p. m. June 11, 1860

Saw a painted turtle on the gravelly bank just south of the bath-place, west side, and suspected that she had just laid (it was mid-afternoon). June 11, 1858

Saw half a dozen Emys insculpta preparing to dig now at mid-afternoon, and one or two had begun at the most gravelly spot there; but they would not proceed while I watched, though I waited nearly half an hour. June 11, 1858

It seems a very earnest and pressing business they are upon. June 11, 1858 They have but a short season to do it in, and they run many risks. June 11, 1858

Landing on Tail's Island, I perceive a sour scent from the wilted leaves and scraps of leaves which were blown off yesterday and strew the ground in all woods. June 11, 1860

Just within the edge of the wood there, I see a small painted turtle on its back, with its head stretched out as if to turn over. June 11, 1860

Surprised by the sight, I stooped to investigate the cause. June 11, 1860

It drew in its head at once, but I noticed that its shell was partially empty. June 11, 1860

I could see through it from side to side as it lay, its entrails having been extracted through large openings just before the hind legs. June 11, 1860

The dead leaves were flattened for a foot over, where it had been operated on, and were a little bloody. June 11, 1860

Its paunch lay on the leaves, and contained much vegetable matter, — old cranberry leaves, etc. June 11, 1860

Judging by the striae, it was not more than five or six years old, — or four or five. June 11, 1860

Its fore parts were quite alive, its hind legs apparently dead, its inwards gone ; apparently its spine perfect. June 11, 1860

The hind legs themselves had not been injured nor the shell scratched. June 11, 1860

The flies had entered it in numbers. June 11, 1860

What creature could have done this which it would be difficult for a man to do? June 11, 1860

I thought it most likely that it was done by some bird of the heron kind which has a long and powerful bill. June 11, 1860

And probably this accounts for the many dead turtles which I have found and thought died from disease. June 11, 1860

A partridge with young in the Saw Mill Brook path. Could hardly tell what kind of creature it was at first, it made such a noise and fluttering amid the weeds and bushes. Finally ran off with its body flat and wings somewhat spread. June 11, 1856

I find, in the dry excrement of a fox left on a rock, the vertebrae and talons of a partridge (?) which he has consumed. June 11, 1853.

Such is Nature, who gave one creature a taste or yearning for another's entrails as its favorite tidbit ! ! June 11, 1860

No wonder the turtle is wary, for, notwithstanding its horny shell, when it comes forth to lay its eggs it runs the risk of having its entrails plucked out. June 11, 1860

That is the reason that the box turtle, which lives on the land, is made to shut itself up entirely within the shell, and I suspect that the mud tortoise only comes forth by night. June 11, 1860

I perceive that scent from the young sweet-fern shoots and withered blossoms which made the first settlers of Concord to faint on their journey. June 11, 1856

See under an apple tree, at entrance of Goose Pond Path from Walden road, a great fungus with hollow white stem, eight or nine inches high, whose black funereal top has melted this morning, leaving a black centre with thin white scales on it. June 11, 1856

All the cistuses are shut now that I see, and also the veiny-leaved hieracium with one leaf on its stem, not long open. June 11, 1856

The Rubus triflorus apparently out of bloom at Saw Mill, before the high blackberry has begun. June 11, 1856

I have noticed the green oak-balls some days. 
June 11, 1855

The target leaf is eaten above. June 11, 1855

Sail to Tail's Island. June 11, 1860

Wind northwest, pretty strong, and not a warm day. June 11, 1860
I notice the patches of bulrushes (Scirpus lacustris) now generally eighteen inches high and very dark green, but recently showing themselves. June 11, 1860

The wind does not blow through our river-valley just as the vanes indicate at home, but conformably to the form of the valley somewhat. June 11, 1860

It depends on whether you have a high and hilly shore to guide it, or a flat one which it may blow across. June 11, 1860

With a north west wind, it is difficult to sail from the willow-row to Hubbard's Bath, yet I can sail more westerly from the island point in Fair Haven Bay to the bath-place above; and though I could not do the first to-day, I did sail all the way from Rice's Bar to half a mile above Sherman's Bridge by all the windings of the river. June 11, 1860

If the bend is due east and the wind northwest I can sail round it. June 11, 1860

Again, as I was approaching Bittern Cliff, I had but little wind, but I said to myself, As soon as I reach the cliff I shall find myself in a current of wind blowing into the opening of the pond valley; and I did. June 11, 1860

Indeed, the wind flows through that part of the river-valley above the water-line somewhat as the water does below it. June 11, 1860

I see from time to time a fish, scared by our sail, leap four to six feet through the air above the waves. June 11, 1860

See many small blue devil's-needles to-day, but no mates with them, and is it not they that the kingbird stoops to snap up, striking the water each time? June 11, 1860

There is at least one foot of water on the meadows generally. June 11, 1860

I cut off the principal bends, pushing amid the thin sedge and pipes, and land on Tail's Island. June 11, 1860

I had carried india-rubber boots to look for wrens' nests, but the water was very much too deep, and I could not have used them except on the very edge in some places. June 11, 1860

Yet the river in Concord this morning was but just one foot above summer level and about eighteen inches above where it was just before the middle of May, when everybody remarked on its extreme lowness. June 11, 1860

I find the Sudbury meadows unexpectedly wet. June 11, 1860

If you should lower it eighteen inches now here, there would still be much water on the Sudbury meadows. June 11, 1860

The sedges, even, are thick and rank only on the more elevated and drier edges of the meadow. June 11, 1860

C. stricta grows thinly (with thin pipes) or occasionally in large tufts. June 11, 1860

Accordingly, on far the greater part of these meadows there is now very little grass, i. e. sedge, but thin pipes and sedge, — the Carex stricta and monile commonly (too wet for scoparia and stellulata). June 11, 1860

On dry parts only, the C. monile, etc. June 11, 1860

Carex cephalophora (?) on Heywood’s Peak. June 11, 1855

The Carex tentaculata at Clamshell in prime, say one week. It abounds at Forget-me-not Shore, — dense- flowered, spreading spikes. June 11, 1860

Is not that carex, Pennsylvanica-like, with a long spike (one inch long by one half-inch wide), C. bullata? June 11, 1855

That fine, dry, wiry wild grass in hollows in woods and sprout-lands, never mown, is apparently the C. Pennsylvanica, or early sedge. June 11, 1855

On our way up, we ate our dinner at Rice's shore, and looked over the meadows, covered there with waving sedge, light-glaucous as it is bent by the wind, reflecting a grayish or light-glaucous light from its underside. June 11, 1860

That meadow opposite Rice's Bath is comparatively well covered with sedge, as the great Sudbury meadow is not. June 11, 1860

Notice pads and pontederias are now pretty thick. June 11, 1860
I notice no white lily pads near the bathing-rock in Flint’s Pond. June 11, 1856

The white lily pads reddish, and showing their crimson undersides from time to time when the wind blows hardest. June 11, 1860

Utricularia vulgaris very abundant in Everett’s Pool. June 11, 1856

The potamogeton (the large common one) is remarkable as a brown leaf, — fit color for the brown water on which it floats, — but the potamogetons are few and scarcely obvious yet on the river. June 11, 1860

I do not see the great Scirpus fluviatilis there yet. June 11, 1860

There are many large spaces of pads, — two at Tail's Island, — showing that they are wet all summer. June 11, 1860

This is more like a lagoon than a meadow, in fact. June 11, 1860

It is too wet even for sedges to flourish, for they are not dense, as on other meadows, except on the higher parts near the hills or shores. June 11, 1860

The veiny-leaved hieracium with one leaf on its stem, not long open. June 11, 1856

Lambkill flower. June 11, 1859

Carrion-flower up a day or two. June 11, 1859

Panicum latifolium (not out) grows by riverside at Dakin's Brook. June 11, 1859

Galium triflorum, how long? June 11, 1859

Ferns generally were killed by the frost of last month, e. g. brakes, cinnamon fern, flowering and sensitive ferns, and no doubt others. I smell the strong sour scent of their decaying. June 11, 1859

The brakes, the sarsaparilla, the osmundas, the Solomon’s-seals, the lady's slippers have long since withered and fallen. The huckleberries and blueberries, too, have lost their leaves. The forest floor is covered with a thick coat of moist brown leaves. June 11, 1859

It is very hot this afternoon, and that peculiar stillness of summer noons now reigns in the woods. June 11, 1856

When I return, about 5 p. m., the shad-flies swarm over the river in considerable numbers, but there are very few at sundown. June 11, 1859

A beautiful summer night, not too warm, moon not quite full, after two or three rainy days. June 11, 1851

When I get away from the town and deeper into the night, I hear whip-poor-wills, and see fireflies in the meadow. June 11, 1851

The whip-poor-will suggests how wide asunder the woods and the town. . . . It is a bird not only of the woods, but of the night side of the woods. June 11, 1851

At 9 p. m. , 54°, and no toads nor peepers heard. June 11, 1860

 I hear the nighthawks uttering their squeaking notes high in the air now at nine o ' clock P. M. , and occasionally  what I do not remember to have heard so late — their booming note. It sounds more as if under a cope than by day. The sound is not so fugacious, going off to be lost amid the spheres, but is echoed hollowly to earth, making the low roof of heaven vibrate. Such a sound is more confused and dissipated by day. June 11, 1851 

No one, to my knowledge, has observed the minute differences in the seasons. June 11, 1851

Hardly two nights are alike. June 11, 1851

Many men walk by day; few walk by night. It is a very different season. Instead of the sun, there are the moon and stars; instead of the wood thrush, there is the whip-poor-will; instead of butterflies, fireflies, winged sparks of fire! June, 1850

The woodland paths are never seen to such advantage as in a moonlight night, opening before me almost against expectation as I walk, as if it were not a path, but an open, winding passage through the bushes, which my feet find. June 11, 1851

I now descend round the corner of the grain-field, through the pitch pine wood into a lower field, inclosed by woods, and find myself in a colder, damp and misty atmosphere, with much dew on the grass. June 11, 1851

There is something creative and primal in the cool mist. June 11, 1851

I seem to be nearer to the origin of things. June 11, 1851

My spiritual side takes a more distinct form. .June 11, 1851

A book of the seasons, each page of which should be written in its own season and out-of-doors, or in its own locality wherever it may be. June 11, 1851

June 11, 2023

See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau:


*****

May 12, 1855 ("The brown thrasher is a powerful singer; he is a quarter of a mile off across the river, when he sounded within fifteen rods. ")
May 13, 1855 ("Now, about two hours before sunset, the brown thrashers are particularly musical. One seems to be contending in song with another.")
May 29, 1855 ("The red-eye, its clear loud song in bars continuously repeated and varied; all tempered white beneath and dark yellow olive above and on edge of wings, with a dark line on side-head or from root of bill; dusky claws, and a very long bill.")
June 2, 1854 ("Are these not kingbird days, when, in clearer first June days full of light, this aerial, twittering bird flutters from willow to willow and swings on the twigs, showing his white-edged tail?")
June 6, 1855 ("On the Island I hear still the redstart—tsip tsip tsip tsip, tsit-i-yet, or sometimes tsip tsip tsip tsip, tse vet. A young male. It repeats this at regular intervals for a long time , sitting pretty still now.")
June 7, 1853 ("The oven-bird runs from her covered nest, so close to the ground under the lowest twigs and leaves, even the loose leaves on the ground, like a mouse, that I can not get a fair view of her. ")
June 7, 1858 ("The nighthawk sparks and booms over arid hillsides and sprout-lands.")
June 8, 1855("A tanager’s nest in the topmost forks of a pitch pine about fifteen feet high, by Thrush Alley; the nest very slight, apparently of pine needles, twigs, etc.; can see through it; bird on")
June 9, 1854 (" The veery rings, and the tree toad.")
June 9, 1855 ("I think I have hardly heard a bobolink for a week or ten days.")
June 9. 1856 ("Now I notice where an elm is in the shadow of a cloud,—the black elm-tops and shadows of June. It is a dark eyelash which suggests a flashing eye beneath. It suggests houses that lie under the shade, the repose and siesta of summer noons, the thunder-cloud, bathing, and all that belongs to summer. ")

June 12, 1853 ("The note of the wood thrush answers to some cool unexhausted morning vigor in the hearer.")
June 13, 1851 ("The nighthawk booms wide awake")
June 13, 1851 (" I hear partridges drumming to-night as late as 9 o'clock .What singularly space penetrating and filling sound! Why am I never nearer to its source? ")
June 13, 1858 (" I hear and see the parti-colored warbler, blue yellow-backed, here on the spruce trees. It probably breeds here. [Ledum Swamp]")
June 14, 1851 ("The blackbird's harsher note resounds over the meadows, and the veery's comes up from the wood.")
June 14, 1858 ("Young partridges, when?")
June 15, 1851 ("I hear, while sitting by the wall, the sound of the stake-driver at a distance. . . . The pumper. I immediately went in search of the bird, but, after going a third of a mile, it did not sound much nearer, and the two parts of the sound did not appear to proceed from the same place. What is the peculiarity of these sounds which penetrate so far on the keynote of nature? ")
June 15, 1852 ("The note of the bobolink begins to sound somewhat rare. ")
June 16, 1854 ("Thrasher and catbird sing still; summer yellowbird and Maryland yellow-throat sing still; and oven-bird and veery.")
June 17, 1852 ("The birds sing well this morning, well as ever. The brown thrasher drowns the rest. Lark first, and, in the woods, the red-eye, veery, chewink, oven-bird, wood thrush.")
June 25, 1860 (" As near as I can make out with my glass, I see and hear the parti-colored warbler at Ledum Swamp on the larches and pines. A bluish back, yellow breast with a reddish crescent above, and white belly, and a continuous screeping note to the end.")
June 26, 1855 ("C. has found a wood pewee’s nest on a horizontal limb of a small swamp white oak, ten feet high, with three fresh eggs, cream-colored with spots of two shades in a ring about large end. Have nest and an egg.")

June 11, 2022

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, June 11
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






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