methinks I should hear with indifference if a trustworthy messenger were to inform me that the sun drowned himself last night
six drops in a minute
...Thoreau's Journal: 16-Mar-1856
The red maple is now about an inch deep in a quart pail,—nearly all caught since morning. It now flows at the rate of about six drops in a minute. Has probably flowed faster this afternoon. It is perfectly clear, like water. Going home, slipped on the ice, throwing the pail over my head to save myself, and spilt all but a pint. So it was lost on the ice of the river. When the river breaks up, it will go down the Concord into the Merrimack, and down the Merrimack into the sea, and there get salted as well as diluted, part being boiled into sugar. It suggests, at any rate, what various liquors, besides those containing salt, find their way to the sea,—the sap of how many kinds of trees!
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Dear HDT...I love reading your Journal and thank you, the writer, and you, the blogger.
Every time Thoreau mentions the Concord River, I think of what it had become barely a century later when Kerouac writes about its pollution and junk-strewn beaches in 'Doctor Sax'.
By the way, an elegant blog – thank you.
daily life is made up of hundreds of little stories all connected as we travel the day,their are those of us that let each event pass by without regard and then some reflect on the importance of each moment,as it is your life i suggest you reflect on as many moments in time as possible.
again i say all life consists of stories little ones that make up big ones , snippets of time and events,that will give us our final smile!.
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