I wish I could get out today. The sun is bright in the air— The birds are in constant motion in the hedgerow— The light has changed from a wintry silver to the gold of spring—
(You do notice the change in the color of the light, do you not?)
I wish I could get out today. If I could, I might feel as Thoreau did, when he stepped out on this date in 1852:
This afternoon I throw off my outside coat. A mild spring day. I must hie to the Great Meadows. The air is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare. ... I go by Sleepy Hollow toward the Great Fields. I lean over a rail to hear what is in the air, liquid with the bluebirds’ warble. My life partakes of infinity. The air is as deep as our natures. Is the drawing in of this vital air attended with no more glorious results than I witness? The air is a velvet cushion against which I press my ear.I wish I could get out today.
—From the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), March 15, 1852.