Thoreau writes in his journal:
2 P.M.—To Walden and Cliffs . . .
Standing on Emerson’s Cliff, I see very distinctly the redness of a luxuriant field of clover on the top of Fair Haven Hill, some two thirds of a mile off, the day being cloudy and misty, the sun just ready to break out. You might have mistaken the redness for that of withered pine boughs where wood was cut last winter . . .
