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  Now, at 9 P.M., a clear sky. And so the storm which began evening of 13th ends.

  Mr. Rice tells me that when he was getting mud out of the little swamp at the foot of Brister’s Hill last [a blank space left for the day], he heard a squeaking and found that he was digging near the nest of what he called a “field mouse” . . .

  I come home in the evening through a very heavy rain after two brilliant rainbows at sunset, the first of the year (Journal, 12:49).

  Though it is pretty dry and settled travelling on open roads, it is very muddy still in some roads through woods, as the Marlborough road or Second Division road.

  2 P.M.—To Lee’s Cliff . . .

  The golden willow catkins begin to fall; their prime is past. And buttercups and silvery cinquefoil, and the first apple blossoms, avid waving grass beginning to be tinged with sorrel, introduce us to a different season. The huckleberry, resinosa, its red flowers are open, in more favorable places several days earlier, probably; and the earliest shrub and red and black oaks in warm exposures may be set down to to-day. A red butterfly goes by . . .

  P.M.—Up Assabet.

  The golden willow catkins are suddenly falling and covering my boat. High blueberry has flowered, say yesterday. Swamp-pink leafing, say yesterday. The Amelanchier Botryapium—some of them—have lost blossoms and show minute fruit. This I suspect the first sign of all wild edible fruit . . .