Thoreau writes in his journal:
2 A.M.—The moon not quite full. To Conantum via road . . . The fog in the lowlands on the Corner road is never still . . . The moon is getting low. I hear a wagon cross one of the bridges leading into the town . . . On the first top of Conantum. I hear the farmer harnessing his horse and starting for the distant market, but no man harnesses himself, and starts for worthier enterprises . . . The clock strikes four. A few dogs bark. A few more wagons start for market, their faint rattling heard in the distance . . . 5 o’clock.- The light now reveals a thin film of vapor like a gossamer veil cast over the lower hills beneath the Cliffs and stretching to the river, thicker in the ravines, thinnest on the even slopes . . . I went down to Tupelo Cliff to bathe. A great bittern, which I had scared, flew heavily across the stream. The redness had risen at length above the dark cloud, the sun approaching.
