Thursday, June 6, 2013

“I feel a little fluttered in my thoughts”

.
This is June, the month of grass and leaves.
The deciduous trees are investing the evergreens and revealing how dark they are. Already the aspens are trembling again, and a new summer is offered me. I feel a little fluttered in my thoughts, as if I might be too late. Each season is but an infinitesimal point. It no sooner comes than it is gone. It has no duration. It simply gives a tone and hue to my thought.


—From the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), June 6, 1857.


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