June 2, 1853

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Now I have reached the hill-top above the fog at a quarter to five, about sunrise, and all around me is a sea of fog, level and white, reaching nearly to the top of this hill, only the tops of a few high hills appearing as distant islands in the main.

You can get the impression which the ocean makes, without ever going to the shore… It is tossed up toward the sun and by it into the the most boisterous of seas, which no craft, no ocean steamer, is vast enough to sail on.

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And now long, dark ridges of wood appear through it, and now the sun reflected from the river makes a bright glow in the fog….