Sept. 20.UNDER an old black oak, glossy and green, exhaling aromaamid a grove the Albic druids might have chosenenvelopd in the warmth and light of the noonday sun, and swarms of flitting insectswith the harsh cawing of many crows a hundred rods awayhere I sit in solitude, absorbing, enjoying all. The corn, stackd in its cone-shaped stacks, russet-colord and serea large field spotted thick with scarlet-gold pumpkinsan adjoining one of cabbages, showing well in their green and pearl, mottled by much light and shademelon patches, with their bulging ovals, and great silver-streakd, ruffled, broad-edged leavesand many an autumn sight and sound besidethe distant scream of a flock of guinea-hensand pourd over all the September breeze, with pensive cadence through the tree tops.
Another Day.The ground in all directions strewd with debris from a storm. Timber creek, as I slowly pace its banks, has ebbd low, and shows reaction from the turbulent swell of the late equinoctial. As I look around, I take account of stockweeds and shrubs, knolls, paths, occasional stumps, some with smoothd tops, (several I use as seats of rest, from place to place, and from one I am now jotting these lines,)frequent wild-flowers, little white, star-shaped things, or the cardinal red of the lobelia, or the cherry-ball seeds of the perennial rose, or the many-threaded vines winding up and around trunks of trees.
Oct. 1, 2 and 3.Down every day in the solitude of the creek. A serene autumn sun and westerly breeze to-day (3d) as I sit here, the water surface prettily moving in wind-ripples before me. On a stout old beech at the edge, decayed and slanting, almost fallen to the stream, yet with life and leaves in its mossy limbs, a gray squirrel, exploring, runs up and down, flirts his tail, leaps to the ground, sits on his haunches upright as he sees me, (a Darwinian hint?) and then races up the tree again.
Oct. 4.Cloudy and coolish; signs of incipient winter. Yet pleasant here, the leaves thick-falling, the ground brown with them already; rich coloring, yellows of all hues, pale and dark-green, shades from lightest to richest redall set in and toned down by the prevailing brown of the earth and gray of the sky. So, winter is coming; and I yet in my sickness. I sit here amid all these fair sights and vital influences, and abandon myself to that thought, with its wandering trains of speculation.