methinks I should hear with indifference if a trustworthy messenger were to inform me that the sun drowned himself last night
the summer’s vapor bath
...Thoreau's Journal: 22-July-1851
The season of morning fog has arrived. I think it is connected with dog-days. Perhaps it is owing to the greater contrast between the night and day, the nights being nearly as cold, while the days are warmer? Before I rise from my couch, I see the ambrosial fog stretched over the river, draping the trees. It is the summer’s vapor bath. What purity in the color? It is almost musical; it is positively fragrant. How faery-like it has visited our fields. I am struck by its firm outlines, as distinct as a pillow’s edge, about the height of my house. A great crescent over the course of the river from southwest to northeast. Already 5:30 A.M., some parts of the river are bare. It goes off in a body down the river, before this air, and does not rise into the heavens. It retreats, and I do not see how it is dissipated. This slight, thin vapor which is left to curl over the surface of the still, dark water, still as glass, seems not [to] be the same thing,—of a different quality. I hear the cockerels crow through it, and the rich crow of young roosters, that sound indicative of the bravest, rudest health, hoarse without cold, hoarse with rude health. That crow is all-nature-compelling.; famine and pestilence flee before it. These are our fairest days, which are born in fog.
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the happiest time i can remember was me paddling a canoe in the north!, it was summer i was in my twenties,the canoe tilted to one side barely above the water line!,a fog maybe two feet from the surface,with loons popping in and out of view with their ghostly calls the only noise!,i was truly at peace with the world!,an odd thing to say was my happiest!. michael jameson
I do love this image.
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