in Thoreau’s Journal:

The sun rises red––with a great red halo through the fog.

 1852

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The buttercup season has arrived here.

—————————————————————————–

1853

in Thoreau’s Journal:

As the seasons revolve toward July. Every new flower that opens, no doubt, expresses a new mood of the human mind….

I see the light purple of rhodora enlivening the edges of swamps––another color the sun wears.

It is a beautiful shrub seen afar & makes a great show from the abundance of its bloom unconcealed by leaves––rising about the andromeda- Is it not the most showy high colored flower or shrub? Flowers are the dif colors of the sun light.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

How many times I have been surprised thus on turning about on this very spot at the fairness of the earth!

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The earlier apple trees are in bloom––& resound with the hum of bees of all sizes & other insects. To sit under the 1st apple tree in blossom is to take another step into summer. The apple blossoms are so abundant & full–white tinged with red–a rich–scented pomona fragrance–telling of heaps of apples in the autumn––perfectly innocent wholesome & delicious.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

All flowers are beautiful….Some apple trees in blossom– Most are just ready to burst forth–the leaves being half formed….

A ladies slipper well budded & now white…The white violets by the spring are rather scarce now.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

This is the season when the meadow grass is seen waving in the wind at the same time that the shadows of clouds are passing over it.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The Rhodora in blossom––a delicate colored flower.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The different color of the water at different times would be worth observing. To day it is full of light & life––the breeze presenting many surfaces to the sun. There is a sparkling shimmer on it. It is a deep dark blue as the sky is clear. The air every where is, as it were, full of the rippling of waves.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The woods putting forth new leaves; it is a memorable season. So hopeful!

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The golden willow catkins begin to fall–their prime is past–& buttercups and silvery cinquefoil, and the first apple blossoms, and waving grass beginning to be tinged with sorrel, introduce us to a different season.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

Insects have just begun to be troublesome.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The birches at a distance appear at as a thin green veil––in their expanding leaves.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The rain is making the grass grow apace– It appears to stand upright–its blades and you can almost see it grow. For some reason I now remember the autumn–the succory & the golden-rod. We remember autumn to best advantage in the spring–the fine aroma of it reaches us then. Are those the young keys of sugar maples that I see? The Canada? (N Brook’s) plum in bloom & a cherry tree. How closely the flower follows upon if it does not precede the leaf! The leaves are but calyx & escort to the flower. Some beds of clover wave

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

There is a positive sweetness in the air from flowers & expanding leaves—a universal sweetness….

Leaves generally are most beautiful when young and tender before insects or weather has defaced them.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

I am most impressed by the rapidity of the changes within a week….The sugar maples in our streets are now green with young leaves.

Methinks the scent is a more primitive inquisition than they eye.–– more oracular and trusty-worthy. When I criticise my own writing I go by the scent, as it were. The scent reveals of course what is concealed from the other senses— By it I detect earthiness.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Has been a dew which wets the feet. & I see a very thin fog over the low ground….

This is the gray morning––the sun risen–– a very thin mist on the landscape––the falling water smooth– Far below a screaming jay seen flying against the bare stems of the pines. The young oaks on the plain the pines stand here and there–the walls in Conantum pastures seen in the sun the little groves on the opposite side of the river lit up by it while I am shade–these are memorable & belong to the hour.

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 profession of handsome bright blue blossoms fading to white with a yellow eye.” I should say bluish white.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

A really warm day…. The shade is even agreeable today. I smell the pines lately; is it because they are starting? O the huckleberry bird! The viola pedata budded, ready to blossom….Every part of the world is beautiful today– – The bright shimmering water–the fresh light-green grass spinging 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 but 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….