in Thoreau’s Journal:
….I perceive the faintest possible flower-like scent as from the earth—reminding me of anemones & houstonias. Can it be the budded mouse-ears under my feet? downy-swaddled—they lie along flat to the earth like a child on its mother’s bosom.
I sit on a rock awhile just below the old trough. These are those early times when the rich golden brown tassels of the alder tremble over the brooks—& not a leaf on their twigs.