Thoreau writes in his journal:
It is one, of the mornings of creation, and the trees, shrubs, etc., etc., are covered with a fine leaf frost, as if they left their morning robes on, seen against the sun. There has been a mist in the night. Now, at 8.30 A.M., I see, collected over the low grounds behind Mr. Cheney’s, a dense fog (over a foot of snow), which looks dusty like smoke by contrast with the snow . . .
9 A.M.—To Partridge Glade . . .
At ten the frost leaves are nearly all melted . . .