in Thoreau’s Journal:

This has been almost the first warm day––none yet quite so warm. Walking to the Cliffs this afternoon––I noticed on Fair Haven Hill a season still-ness as I looked over the distant budding forest & heard the buzzing of a fly–– 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

How dead would the globe seem—especially at this season if it were not for these water surfaces…We are slow to realize water—the beauty & magic of it. It is interestingly strange forever….I look round with a thrill on this bright fluctuating surface on which no man can walk—whereon is—no trace of foot step—unstained as glass.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

If man is thankful for the serene & warm day—much more are the flowers—

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Bluets now just begun.— Dewy calls it Venus Pride! Gray says truly “a very delicate little herb” — “producing in spring a profusion of handsome bright blue blossoms fading to white with a yellow eye.”  I should say bluish white.

May 6, 1851 in Thoreau’s Journal:

How important is a constant intercourse with nature and the contemplation of natural phenomenon to the preservation of Moral & intellectual health. The discipline of the schools or of business–can never impart such serenity to the mind.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Every part of the world is beautiful today— — The bright shimmering water—fresh light-green grass springing up on the hills—tender firm moss-like before it waves.— the very faint blue sky without distinct clouds is least beautiful of all, having yielded its beauty to the earth—& the fine light smokes—sometimes blue against the woods.— and the tracts where the woods have been cut the past winter. The beautiful etherial not misty blue of the horizon—& its mts, as if painted. Now all buds may swell methinks—now the summer may begin for all creatures. The wind appears to be a little N of W. The waters still high have a fine shimmering sparkle over a great part of their surface—not so large nor quite so bright as in the fall.

As I can throw my voice into my head & sing very loud & clear there, so I can throw my thought into a higher chamber, & think louder & clearer above the earth than men will understand.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Leaf-stem, bud, and flower are all very handsome in their place & season.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

How cheering & glorious any landscape viewed from an eminence!  For every one has its horizon & sky. It is so easy to take wide views.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

I am surprised by the tender yellowish green of the aspen leaf just expanded suddenly, even like a fire seen in the sun, against the dark-brown twigs of the wood, through these leaflets are yet but thinly dispersed. It is very enlivening.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The yellow lily is budded. 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

We have then flowers & the song of birds before the woods leave out—like poetry.  

in Thoreau’s Journal: 

The season advances by fits and starts; you would not believe that there could be so many degrees to it. 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The may-flower on the point of blossoming— I think I may say that it will blossom to-morrow.  The blossoms of this plant are remarkably concealed beneath the leaves—perhaps for protection— It is singularly unpretending—not seeking to exhibit or display its simply beauty. It is the most delicate flower both to eye & to scent as yet— Its weather worn leaves do not adorn it. If it had fresh spring leaves it would be more famous & sought after.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

This bright reflecting water surface is seen plainly at a higher level than the distant pond— It has a singular but peasant effect on the beholder to see considerable sheets of water standing at different levels— Pleasant to see lakes like platters full of water.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

On Conantum Cliffs whose seams dip to the NW at an angle of 50º (?) and run NE and SW I find today for the first time the early saxifrage saxifrage vernalis in blossom—growing high and dry in the narrow seams where there is no soil for it but a little green moss.—following thus early after the bare rock—it is one of the first flowers not only in the spring of the year but in the spring of the world.—It can take advantage of a perpendicular cliff where the snow cannot lie & fronting the S….This is the place to look for early blossoms of the saxifrage—columbine—& plantain leaved everlasting—the 1st 2 especially— The crevices of the rock (cliff) make natural hot houses for them—affording dryness warmth & shelter.  It is astonishing how soon & unexpectedly flowers appear.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

How pleasant in spring a still overcast warm day like this when the water is smooth! 

in Thoreau’s Journal:

When the wind is still cool elsewhere, I glance up some warm southern slope, sunny and still, where the thinly scattered blades of green grass, lately sprung, already perchance begin to wave, and I am suddenly advertised that a new season has arrived.

This is the beginning of that season which, methinks, culminates with the buttercup and wild pink and Viola pedata.  It begins when the first toad is heard.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The larch will ap. blossom in 1 or 2 days at least both its low & broad purple coned male flowers & its purple tippled female cones––Its little leaf-bundles & beginning to burst.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Saw my white-headed eagle again 1st at the same place the outlet of Fair Haven Pond. It was a fine sight— He is mainly––i.e. his wings & body––so black against the sky––& they contrast so strongly with his white head & tail.

He was first flying low over the water; then rose gradually & circled westward toward White Pond. Lying on the ground with my glass I could watch him very easily––& by turns he gave me all possible views of himself. When I observed him edgewise I noticed that the tips of his wings curved upward slightly the more like a stereotyped undulation. He rose very high at last––till I almost lost him in the clouds––circling or rather looping along westward high over river & woods & farm, effectually concealed in the sky.

We who live this plodding life here below never know how many eagles fly over us––

in Thoreau’s Journal:

When the outline & texture of white pine is thus seen against the water or the sky

it is an affecting sight.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

As we stand by the Mt on the Battleground––I see a white pine dimly in the horizon just north of Lee’s Hill––at 5 1/2 Pm, its upright stem & straight horizontal feathered branches––while at the same time I hear a robin sing.  Each enhances the other.

That tree seems the emblem of my life––it stands for the west––the the wild.

The sight of it is grateful to me as to a bird whose perch it is to be at the end of a weary flight. I am not sure whether the music I hear is most in the robins’ song or in its boughs. The pine tree that stands on the verge of the clearing––whose boughs point westward. Which the villager does not permit to grow on the common or by the road side.–– In whose boughs the crow and the hawk have their nests.