14 March 1852
by layman k
March 14. Sunday. Rain, rain, rain; but even this is fair weather after so much snow. The ice on Walden has now for some days looked white like snow, the surface being softened by the sun. I see a flock of blackbirds and hear their conqueree. The ground is mostly bare now. Again I hear the chickadee’s spring note. I remember that one spring, when I travelled in Maine, the woods were ringing with it, as I rode in the stage, plae-be.
from the journals of Henry David Thoreau