1892
June 21
(No 3)
Concord, Massachusetts.
[margin]The river at
sunset (written
in my canoe)[/margin]
Mass.
Concord.- and the Green Frog answers with a tung, tung
on his own tight harp strings.
  The breeze is now dying fast, the sun sinks lower in
the west and the meadows are flooded with a tender
light. The grass and trees wherever the sunlight strikes
are strongly yellowish, a warm greenish yellow, the river
now nearly calm is nearly the color of the sky but
whiter & more burnished.
  Swifts come about me skimming close over the
river. Now a Barn Swallow, a rare bird[delete]s[/delete] here at this
season, joins them. Red eyes are singing in the
line of old oaks on the eastern edge of the meadows.
There are mysterious plashing & gurgling sounds among
the reeds near me, probably made by fish or frogs,
and a Woodchuck rambling about on the hillside in
search of his supper rustles the dry leaves loudly.
The air over the water is alive with Dragon-flies
of varied form & coloring. One of the commonest species
is wholly of a rich plum color.
  Deer flies appeared yesterday & to-day annoy me
wherever I go whether by land or water.
[margin]Deer flies[/margin]
  A Crow passes overhead pursued by an irate Red-wing
who belabors the big corvid unmercifully. The Red-wing
is fully as brave & enterprising in driving Hawks,
Crows, & Grackles away from his nest as is the
King-bird.
  5.45 P.M. The breeze nearly all gone. A full chorus
of Bull Frogs makes the shores ring & drowns the
singing of the birds. The latter, however, are not singing
as freely as the[sic: should be they] were an hour ago.
[margin]Red-wing
harassing a
Crow[/margin]