Thoreau writes in his journal:
2 P.M.—River six and seven eighths above [summer level].
Here is a beautiful, and perhaps first decidedly autumnal, clay,—a, cloudless sky, a clear air, with, maybe, veins of coolness . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
2 P.M.—River six and seven eighths above [summer level].
Here is a beautiful, and perhaps first decidedly autumnal, clay,—a, cloudless sky, a clear air, with, maybe, veins of coolness . . .