Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—To Loring’s Pond.
Decidedly fair weather at last; a bright, breezy, flowing, washing day. I see that dull-red grass whose blades, having risen above the surface of the water . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
P.M.—To Loring’s Pond.
Decidedly fair weather at last; a bright, breezy, flowing, washing day. I see that dull-red grass whose blades, having risen above the surface of the water . . .