Thoreau writes in his journal:
The sun getting low now, say at 3.30, I see the ice green, southeast. Goodwin says that he once had a partridge strike a twig or limb in the woods as she flew, so that she fell and he secured her . . . Now that the sun is setting, all its light seems to glance over the snow-clad pond and strike the rocky shore under the pitch pines a at the northeast end . . .