![]() Our horizon is never quite at our elbows. There is commonly sufficient space about us. Here, in keeping with the topic of this chapter, the visitors are invisible we will meet up with them in the next chapter. Notice Thoreau's ability to notice and draw inferences from seemingly insignificant details. No one hesitated to stop at his house while visiting the pond. ![]() ![]() This paragraph fairly destroys the notion that Thoreau was a recluse (someone who avoids people) or a misanthrope (someone who hates people). Nay, I was frequently notified of the passage of a traveller along the highway sixty rods off by the scent of his pipe. I could always tell if visitors had called in my absence, either by the bended twigs or grass, or the print of their shoes, and generally of what sex or age or quality they were by some slight trace left, as a flower dropped, or a bunch of grass plucked and thrown away, even as far off as the railroad, half a mile distant, or by the lingering odor of a cigar or pipe. One has peeled a willow wand, woven it into a ring, and dropped it on my table. They who come rarely to the woods take some little piece of the forest into their hands to play with by the way, which they leave, either intentionally or accidentally. When I return to my house I find that visitors have been there and left their cards, either a bunch of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a name in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or a chip. Note that Thoreau is feeling in touch with Nature here, not the other way around. A good example is from Wordsworth's "Lines Written in the Early Spring": Thoreau's "sympathy" with the fluttering leaves is a reverse of the pathetic fallacy - a common fallacy among the romantics in which inanimate objects are conscious and think like people. This paragraph links "Sounds" - which has just been describing animal sounds - to "Solitude." They are Nature's watchmen, - links which connect the days of animated life. The wildest animals do not repose, but seek their prey now the fox, and skunk, and rabbit, now roam the fields and woods without fear. Though it is now dark, the mind still blows and roars in the wood, the waves still dash, and some creatures lull the rest with their notes. These small waves raised by the evening wind are as remote from storm as the smooth reflecting surface. Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled. The bullfrogs trump to usher in the night, and the note of the whip-poor-will is borne on the rippling wind from over the water. As I walk along the stony shore of the pond in my shirt-sleeves, though it is cool as well as cloudy and windy, and I see nothing special to attract me, all the elements are unusually congenial to me. I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of herself. This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore. The first paragraph not only ties "Solitude" to the previous chapter "Sounds" but also suggests the next chapter "Visitors."Ĭomments | SECTIONS: | Writing | Thoreau | Home | Bike Pages | In doing so, he gives us some details of his relationship and attitudes towards God, Nature, life, and health which help us understand him better. ![]() In "Solitude," Thoreau explains why it is perfectly healthy and proper for him to spend a great deal of time alone. ![]() Solitude - from Walden by Henry Thoreau, with notes and analysis Solitude ![]()
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