Oct. 20.A CLEAR, crispy daydry and breezy air, full of oxygen. Out of the sane, silent, beauteous miracles that envelope and fuse metrees, water, grass, sunlight, and early frostthe one I am looking at most to-day is the sky. It has that delicate, transparent blue, peculiar to autumn, and the only clouds are little or larger white ones, giving their still and spiritual motion to the great concave. All through the earlier day (say from 7 to 11) it keeps a pure, yet vivid blue. But as noon approaches the color gets lighter, quite gray for two or three hoursthen still paler for a spell, till sun-downwhich last I watch dazzling through the interstices of a knoll of big treesdarts of fire and a gorgeous show of light-yellow, liver-color and red, with a vast silver glaze askant on the waterthe transparent shadows, shafts, sparkle, and vivid colors beyond all the paintings ever made.
I dont know what or how, but it seems to me mostly owing to these skies, (every now and then I think, while I have of course seen them every day of my life, I never really saw the skies before,) I have had this autumn some wondrously contented hoursmay I not say perfectly happy ones? As Ive read, Byron just before his death told a friend that he had known but three happy hours during his whole existence. Then there is the old German legend of the kings bell, to the same point. While I was out there by the wood, that beautiful sunset through the trees, I thought of Byrons and the bell story, and the notion started in me that I was having a happy hour. (Though perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda. I just abandon myself to the mood, and let it float on, carrying me in its placid extasy.)
Hast Thou, pellucid, in Thy azure depths, medicine for case like mine? (Ah, the physical shatter and troubled spirit of me the last three years.) And dost Thou subtly mystically now drip it through the air invisibly upon me?
Night of Oct. 28.The heavens unusually transparentthe stars out by myriadsthe great path of the Milky Way, with its branch, only seen of very clear nightsJupiter, setting in the west, looks like a huge hap-hazard splash, and has a little star for companion.
Clothed in his white garments,
Into the round and clear arena slowly entered the brahmin,
Holding a little child by the hand,
Like the moon with the planet Jupiter in a cloudless night-sky.
Early in November.At its farther end the lane already described opens into a broad grassy upland field of over twenty acres, slightly sloping to the south. Here I am accustomd to walk for sky views and effects, either morning or sundown. To-day from this field my soul is calmd and expanded beyond description the whole forenoon by the clear blue arching over all, cloudless, nothing particular, only sky and daylight. Their soothing accompaniments, autumn leaves, the cool dry air, the faint aromacrows cawing in the distancetwo great buzzards wheeling gracefully and slowly far up therethe occasional murmur of the wind, sometimes quite gently, then threatening through the treesa gang of farm-laborers loading corn-stalks in a field in sight, and the patient horses waiting.