in Thoreau’s Journal:

P. M. —To Walden via R. W. E.’s.

I am surprised to see how bare Minott’s hillside is already. It is already spring there, and Minott is puttering outside in the sun. How wise in his grandfather to select such a site for a house, the summers he has lived have been so much longer!

How pleasant the calm season and the warmth —like a burning-glass on my back — and the sight and sound of melting snow running down the hill! I look in among the withered grass blades for some starting greenness. I listen to hear the first bluebird in the soft air. I hear the dry clucking of hens which have come abroad.