all his paints
...Thoreau's Journal: 22-Jun-1851

As I walk the railroad causeway, I notice that the fields and meadows have acquired various tinges as the season advances, the sun gradually using all his paints. There is the rosaceous evening red tinge of red clover,—like an evening sky gone down under the grass,—the whiteweed tinge, the white clover tinge, which reminds me how sweet it smells. The tall buttercup stars the meadow on another side, telling of the wealth of dairies. The blue-eyed grass, so beautiful near at hand, imparts a kind of slate or clay blue tinge to the meads.


michael jameson said...

blue grass !!!! has its own music, its own songs, poems , and stories! i dont think i can add anything new!. michael jameson oldantiqueguy@hotmail.com misguided philosopher 7

The Skeptical Mystic said...

How strange. I just posted a photo of blue-eyed grass. I stumbled upon it just recently and wondered why more people don't sing its praises.

s said...

Can still happen along Walden St. at sunset (e.g.; more or less)