in Thoreau’s Journal:

….also the Goldfinch twitters over oftener…. I mark again the sound of crickets or locusts about alders &c about this time when the first asters open––which makes you fruitfully meditative–– Helps condense your thoughts––like the meldews in the afternoon–– This the afternoon of the year.  How apt we are to be reminded of lateness—even before the year is half spent. Such little objects check the diffuse tide of our thoughts & bring it to a head––which thrills us–– They are such fruits as music, poetry, love which humanity bears.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

It is a rare music the earliest bee’s hum amid the flowers––revisiting the flower bells just after sunrise.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

For a week or more I have perceived that the evenings were considerably longer and of some account to sit down & write in. Ate an Early-Harvest apple of my own raising yesterday––not quite ripe. The scent of some very early ones which I have passed in my walks, imparting some ripeness to the year, has excited me some what. It affects me like a performance a poem a thing done––and all the year is not a mere promise of Nature’s.

How far behind the spring seems now––farther off perhaps than ever––for this heat & dryness is most opposed to spring. Where I sought for flowers in April & May I do not think to go now––it is either drought & barrenness or fall there now. The reign of moisture is long since over  ––  For a long time the year feels the influence of the snows of winter & the long rains of spring––  But now how changed!  It is like another & a fabulous age to look back on. When earth’s veins were full of moisture & violets burst out on every hill-side. Spring is the reign of water–– Summer of heat & dryness. Winter of cold.  Whole families of plants that lately flourished have disappeared. Now the phenomena are tropical. Let our summer last long enough & our land would wear the aspect of the tropics.–– The luxuriant foliage & growth of all kinds shades the earth & is converting every copse into a jungle. Vegetation is rampant ––  There is not such rapid growth it is true, but it slumbers like a serpent that has swallowed its prey. Summer is one long drought. Rain is the exception –– All the signs of it fail for it is dry weather–– Though it may seem so the current year is not peculiar in this respect. It is a slight labor to keep account of all the showers the rainy days of of a summer–– You may keep it on your thumbnail.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

About the water further north the elodea is very common––& there too the rhexia is seen afar on the islets––its brilliant red like a rose— It is fitly called Meadow Beauty–– Is not the handsomest & most striking & brilliant flower since roses & lillies began?  Blue vervain out some days.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

….and now reddish fruit of the trillium….

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The forenoon is fuller of light. The butterflies on the flowers look like other & frequently larger flowers themselves. 

Now I yearn for one of those old meandering dry uninhabited roads which lead away from towns––which lead us away from temptation, which conduct to the outside of earth––over its uppermost crust––where you may forget in what country you are traveling––where no farmer can complain that you are treading down his grass––no gentlemen who has recently constructed a seat in the country that you are trespassing––on which you can go off at half cock––and waive adieu to the village––along which you may travel like a pilgrim––going nowither.

Where travelers are not too often to be met. Where my spirit is free––where the walls & fences are not cared for––where your head is more in heaven than your feet are on the earth––which have long reaches––where you can see the approaching traveller half a mile off and be prepared for him––not so luxuriant a soil as to attract men––some root and stump fences which do not need attention––  Where travelers have no occasion to stop––but pass along and leave you to your thoughts–– Where it makes no odds which way you face whether you are going or coming––whether it is morning or evening––mid noon or mid-night––

Where earth is cheap enough by being public. Where you can walk and think with least obstruction––there being nothing to measure progress by. Where you can pace when your breast is full and cherish your moodiness. Where you are not in false relations with men––are not dining nor conversing with them….

It must simply be the way and the life. 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

4 PM. Annursnack  The under sides of the leaves exposed by the breeze give a light blueish tinge to the woods as I look down on them. Looking at the woods west of this hill there is a grateful dark shade under their eastern sides where they meet the meadows––their cool night side––a triangular segment of night to which the sun has set. The mts look like waves on a blue ocean tossed up by a stiff gale. The rhexia Virginia is in bloom.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

My greatest skill has been to want but little….

Heavily hangs the Common Yellow lily Lilium Canadense in the meadows–– In the thick alder copses by the causeway side I find the Lysimachia hybrida. Here is the Lactuca Sanguinea with its runcinate leaves-tall-stem & pale crimson ray.

And that green stemmed one higher than my head resembled the last in its leaves––is perchance the tall lettuce or Fire weed. 

Can that fine white flowered meadow plant with the leaf be a Thalictrum?

in Thoreau’s Journal:

We are gliding swiftly up the river by Lee’s bend. The surface of the water is the place to see the Pontederia from for now the spikes of flowers are all brought into a dense line––a heavy line of blue a foot or more in width––on both sides of the river. The pontederias are now in their prime––there being no withered heads, they are very freshly blue. In the sun when you are looking west they are of a violaceous blue….

In many parts of the river the pickerel weed is several rods wide––its blueness akin to the misty blue air which paints the sky….The border of pontederia is rarely of equal depth on both sides at once––but it keeps that side in the meander where the sediment is deposited––the shortest course which will follow the shore…..This is the longest line of blue that nature paints with flowers in our fields––though the lupines may have been more densely blue within a small compass––  Thus by a natural law a river instead of flowing straight through its meadows––meanders––from side to side––& fertilizes this side or that & adorns its banks with flowers.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The meadows on the Turnpike are white with the meadow rue now more than ever. They are filled with it many feet high.  

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Many men walk by day; few walk by night.  It is a very different season.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

We seem to be passing or to have passed a dividing line between spring & autumn––& begin to descend the long slope toward winter…

The stems of various asters & golden-rods which ere long will reign along the way begin to be conspicuous.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

I see a rose now in its prime by the river in the water amid the willows & button bushes––while others lower on shore are nearly out of bloom…

in Thoreau’s Journal:

This might be called the hayer’s or hay-maker’s moon, for I perceive that when the day has been oppressively warm the haymakers rest at noon & resume their mowing after sunset, sometimes quite into evening.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The early cotton grass is now about gone from Hubbard’s Close.

With this month began the reign of river weeds obstructing the stream…

A lilium Canadense (at Dodge Brook corner by road) approaching Superbum 4 1/2 feet high with a whorl of 4 flowers & 2 more above somewhat pyramidal & petals recurved.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

How valuable & significant is shade now––  Trees appear valuable for shade mainly––& we observe their shadows as much as their form & foliage.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Northern wild red cherry ripe ap some days.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The red-lily with its torrid color & sun freckled spots––dispensing too with the outer garment of a calyx––its petals so open & wide apart that you can see through it in every direction tells of hot weather–– It is a handsome bell shape––so upright & the flower prevails over every other part. It belongs not to spring. 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

[Writing of approaching Tuckerman’s Ravine while descending Mt. Washington, New Hampshire].  

It is unwise for one to ramble over these mountains at any time, unless he is prepared to move with as much certainty as if he were solving a geometrical problem.  

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Now that there is an interregnum in the blossoming of the flowers, so is there in the singing of the birds….With a certain wariness, but not without a slight shudder at the danger oftentimes, I perceive how near I had come to admitting into my mind the details of some trivial affair, as a case at court, and I am astonished to observe how willing men are to lumber their minds with such rubbish, to permit idle rumors, tales, incidents, even of an insignificant kind, to intrude upon what should be the sacred ground of the thoughts.