Thoreau writes in his journal:
Rain again in the night, but now clear. Though the last week has been remarkably warm, the warmest in the year, the river, owing to the rains, has not been warm enough for perfect bathing, as in July, ’52. It was lowest (thus far) in July this year, before these rains. It has been melting weather; hundreds sunstruck in New York. Sultry, mosquitoey nights, with both windows and door open, and scarcely a sheet to be endured. But now it is cooler at last.
P.M.—To White’s Pond via Dugan’s.
The air is somewhat cooler and beautifully clear at last after all these rains. Instead of the late bluish mistiness, I see a distinct, dark shade under the edge of the woods, tlrc effect of the luxuriant foliage seen through the clear air . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal on 16 August:
Yesterday also in the Marlborough woods, perceived everywhere that offensive mustiness of decaying fungi (Journal, 5:377).
