Clover now reddens the fields. Grass in its prime. Comfrey in front of Stow’s well out some days apparently. With the roses now fairly begun I associate summer heats . . .

  Sundown.—To Clamshell Hill.

  Nightshade a day or two. The cracks made by cold in pastures in the winter are still quite distinct. Phleum or herd’s-grass (?). I sit on the Clamshell Hill at sunset . . .