in Thoreau’s Journal:
Where is my home?
It is indistinct as a old cellar hole now a faint indentation merely in a farmer’s field—which he has ploughed into & rounded off its edges—years ago and I sit by the old site on the stump of an oak which once grew there.
Such is the nature where we have lived—
Thick birch groves stand here & there dark brown? now with white lines more or less distinct.