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:

The Cardinal flower probably open today.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Now is the haying season. How active must these men be, all the country over, that they may get through their work in season! 

1851 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The season of morning fogs has arrived.

1853 in Thoreau’s Journal:

On one account at least I enjoy walking in the fields less at this season than any other—there are so many men in the fields haying now.

The white lily has opened how could it stand these heats….

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

It is star light—you see the first star in the SW & know not how much earlier you might have seen it had you looked.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The white cotton-grass now & how long?

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

It is a test question affecting the youth of a person, ––Have you knowledge of the morning?  Do you sympathize with that season of nature?

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:

A thick fog began last night & lasts till late this morning. First of the kind methinks

in Thoreau’s Journal:

This cooler—still cloudy weather after the rain is very autumnal & restorative to our spirits— The robin sings—still—but the goldfinch twitters over oftener—& I hear the link link of the bobolink (one perfect strain!) and the crickets creak more as in the fall— All these sounds dispose our minds to serenity….

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

in Thoreau’s Journal:

How deep or perhaps slaty sky-blue are those blueberries that grow in the shade—

It is an unexpected & thrilling discovery to find such etherial fruits in dense drooping clusters under the fresh green of oak & hickory sprouts. Those that grow in the sun—appear to be the same species only to have lost their bloom & freshness—and hence are darker.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

A Journal.— a book that shall contain a record of all your joy—your extacy.

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

The king bird is active over the causeway notwithstanding the heat.

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. The waving of the meadow grass near Fair Haven Isle—is very agreeable & refreshing to one looking down from an elevation. It appears not merely like a waving—or undulation but a progress—a creeping as of an invisible army over it—its flat curly head. The grass appears tufted—watered. On the river the ripple is continued into the pads—where it is smoother—a longer undulation. Pines or evergreens do not attract so much attention now. They have retired on the laurels of the winter.

What is called genius is the abundance of life or health so that whatever addresses the senses—as the flavor of these berries—or the lowing of that cow—which sounds as if it echoed along a cool mt side just before night—where odoriferous dews perfume the air and there is everlasting vigor serenity—& expectation of perpetual untarnished morning—each sight & sound & scent & flavor—intoxicates with a healthy intoxication— The shrunken stream of life overflows its banks makes & fertilizes broad intervals from which generations derive their sustenances. This is the true overflowing of the Nile. So exquisitely sensitive are we—  It makes us embrace our fates & instead of suffering or indifference, we enjoy & bless.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Morton, in his Crania Americana says—referring to Wilkinson as his authority—that “Vessels of porcelain of Chinese manufacture, have of late been repeatedly found in the catacombs of Thebes, in Egypt” some as old as the Pharaonic period. And the inscriptions on them “have been read with ease by Chinese scholars, and in three instances record the following legend:—

The flower opens, and lo! another year.”

There is something sublime in the fact that some of the oldest written sentences should thus celebrate the coming in of Spring. How many times have the flowers opened and new year begun! Hardly a more cheering sentence could have come down to us. How old is spring—a phenomenon still so fresh! Do we perceive any decay in Nature?  How much evidence is contained in this short and simple sentence respecting the form inhabitants of this globe! It is a sentence to be inscribed on vessels of porcelain.  Suggesting that so many years had gone before. An observation as fit then as now.

 in Thoreau’s Journal: 

The cardinal flower shows red.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Columbines still—

in Thoreau’s Journal: 

The pure white cymes (?) of the elder are very conspicuous now along the edges of meadows contrasting with the green above and around—