in Thoreau’s Journal:

As I watch the groves on the meadow opposite our house—I see how differently they look at different hours of the day i.e. in dif. lights when the sun shines on them variously.

In the morning perchance they seem one blended mass of light green In the afternoon distinct trees appear—separated by heavy shadows—& in some places I can see quite through the grove.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

And next the redness became a sort of yellowish or fawn colored light & the sun now set fire to the edges of the broken cloud which had hung over the horizon—& they glowed like burning turf.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

While the grass is fresh the earth is in its vigor. The greenness of the grass is the best symptom or evidence of the earth’s youth or health. Perhaps it will be found that when the grass ceases to be fresh & green or after June—the birds have ceased to sing—& the fireflies too no longer in myriads sparkle in the meadows—

Perhaps a history of the year would be a history of the grass—or of a leaf regarding the grass blades as leaves—for it is equally true that the leaves soon loose their freshness & soundness, & become the prey of insects & of drought.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

A certain refinement & civilization in nature which increases with the wildness. The civilization that consists with wildness. The light that is in night. A smile as in a dream on the face of the sleeping lake.

There is light enough to show what we see—what night has to exhibit—any more would obscure these objects.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

In the woods near the top the Vib. lantanoides Hobble bush-Am. in fruit—mostly large & red but the ripe dark blue. or black like the V. nudum— what I have formerly falsely called Moose-berry.

September 5, 2016: Photo

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

Some galls on the oak an inch in diameter like cast steel-soap balls–quite handsome. Some smaller and redder….

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

Would it not be worth the while to devote one day each year to collecting with pains the different kinds of asters perhaps about this time—and another to the golden rods.

September 2, 2016: Photo

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The Soapwort gentian out abundantly in Flints-Bridge Lane—ap. for a week—a surprisingly deep faintly purplish blue….it has the flowering of the sky.

The sky has descended & kissed the earth….Why come these blue flowers thus late in the year.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

I now begin to pluck wild apples—

in Thoreau’s Journal:

They cannot fatally injure Walden with an axe, for they have done their worst & failed. We see things in the reflection which we do not see in the substance.

In the reflected woods of Pine Hill there is a vista through which I see the sky—but I am indebted to the water for this advantage—for from this point the actual wood affords no such vista.