methinks I should hear with indifference if a trustworthy messenger were to inform me that the sun drowned himself last night
2.05.2007
Thoreau's Journal: 5-Feb-1853
A thick fog. The trees and woods look well through it. You are inclined to walk in the woods for objects. They are draped with mist, and you hear the sound of it dripping from them. It is a lichen day. Not a bit of rotten wood lies on the dead leaves, but it is covered with fresh, green cup lichens, etc., etc. All the world seems a great lichen and to grow like one to-day,—a sudden humid growth
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