in Thoreau’s Journal:
The clethra must be one of the most conspicuous flowers not yellow at present.
I sit 3/4 up the hill. The crickets creak strong & loud now after sun-set. No word will spell it. It is a short strong regular singing sound as of a thousand exactly together—though further off some alternate—repeated regularly & in rapid time perhaps 2ce in a second. Methinks their quire is much fuller & louder than a fortnight ago — Ah! I need solitude. I have come forth to this hill at sunset to see the forms of the mts in the horizon—to behold & commune with something grander than man— Their mere distance & unprofanedness is an infinite encouragement— It is with an infinite yearning & aspiration that I seek solitude—more & more resolved & strong—but with a certain genial weakness that I see society ever. I hear the night hawk squeak—& a whippor-will sing. I hear the tremulous squealing scream of a screech owl in the Holden woods—sounding somewhat like the neighing of a horse—not like the snipe. Now at 7 3/4 perhaps 1/2 hour after sunset—the river is quite distinct and full of light in the dark landscape a silver strip of sky—of the same color & brightness with the sky— As I go home by Haden’s I smell the burning meadow— I love this scent It is my pipe. I smoke the earth.