Chapter 49 lonely - 1

It was a pleasant evening, and there was only one feeling in the whole body, and joy was soaked in every pore.I came and went with a strange freedom in nature, a part of herself.I walked along the rocky lakeshore in my shirt shirt, and although it was cold, cloudy and windy, there was no particular distraction, and the weather was unusually good for me.The call of the bullfrogs calls for the night, and the music of the nighthawks comes from the lake on the rippling wind.The swaying alders and aspens arouse my emotions so that I can scarcely breathe; yet like the water of a lake my peace has only ripples and no stirrings.Like the mirrored surface of the lake, the waves raised by the evening wind were hardly stormy.Although it was dark, the wind was still blowing and roaring in the forest, the waves were still crashing, and certain animals were still hypnotizing others with their music, the tranquility could not be absolute.The fiercest beasts have no peace, and now seek their prey; the fox, the skunk, the hare, roam the fields too, and in the woods they have no fear, they are nature's watchmen,—the connection A chain of living days.When I got to the house, I found visitors who had left cards, either a bouquet of flowers, or a wreath of ivy, or a name written in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or chip of wood.People who don't go into the forest often take the trinkets of the forest in their hands to play with along the way, sometimes deliberately, sometimes by accident, and leave them behind.One peeled willow bark, fashioned it into a ring, and threw it on my table.When I go out, I can always know if there are any guests, whether the branches or grass are bent, or there are shoe prints. Generally speaking, I can guess their age and gender from the tiny traces they leave. and character; some dropped flowers, some picked up a handful of grass and threw it away, and some even went as far as the railroad half a mile away; scattered.Often I can still notice, by the smell of my pipe, a traveler passing on the road sixty rods away.

The space around us should be said to be very large.We cannot touch the horizon just by reaching out.A dense forest or lake is not just at my door, but there is always a clearing in the middle that we know and use, somewhat groomed and fenced, as if robbed from the hands of nature. obtained.For what reason should I have so many square miles of uninhabited forest, deserted by man, and kept to myself on such a large scale and scale?The nearest neighbor to me was a mile away, and there were no houses in sight, unless I went up to the top of the hill half a mile away, and I could see few houses.My horizon was entirely surrounded by forests for my own enjoyment, with only the railroad passing by at one end of the lake and the fence along the wooded road at the other.Generally speaking, the place where I live is as lonely as living on the prairie.It is as far from New England here as it is from Asia and Africa.It can be said that I have my own sun, moon and stars, and I have a small world that is completely my own.No one ever passed my house or knocked at my door at night, as if I were the first or the last of mankind, except in the spring, after long intervals, when someone came from the village to fish for cod Fish,--in Walden it was evident that all they could catch was their own variety, and the hooks could only hook as far as night--they all withdrew at once, often with very light reels. retreated, leaving "the world to night and I," whose core was never polluted by any human neighbour.People are generally still a little afraid of the dark, I believe, though witches have been hanged, and Christianity and candles have been introduced.

Yet I have sometimes experienced that in any thing of nature one can find the sweetest, tenderest, most innocent and inspiring companions, even to the most cynical wretches and the most melancholy.So long as one lives in the midst of nature and still has the five senses, it is impossible to have very gloomy worries.To the sane and innocent ear, the storm is indeed the music of Iolus.Nothing can rightly compel the simple and brave to vulgar sentimentality.While I enjoy the friendship of the seasons, I believe that nothing can make life a heavy burden to me.The rain fell on my beans today and kept me in the house all day, and the rain didn't make me depressed or melancholy, it was good enough for me.Though it prevents me from hoeing, it is more valuable than my hoeing.If it rains long enough to rot the seeds in the ground and the potatoes in the lowlands, it is good for the grass in the uplands, and as it is good for the grass in the highlands, it is good for me too.Sometimes I compare myself with others, as if I were more favored by the gods than others, more than I seemed to deserve; special guidance and protection.I didn't flatter myself, but they did, if they could.I never felt lonely, nor was I at all oppressed by it, except once, after a few weeks in the woods, I wondered for an hour whether a quiet and healthy life should have some neighbors, and it seemed unpleasant to be alone .At the same time, I feel that my emotions are a little out of order, but I also seem to predict that I will return to normal.When these thoughts occupy me, the gentle rain falls, and I suddenly feel so sweet and so blessed to be in the company of nature. In this ticking rain, every sound around my house There is an endless and boundless friendship with the scene and the scene. Suddenly, this atmosphere of support suppressed the thought trend that I imagined that it would be more convenient to have neighbors. Since then, I have never thought about neighbors again.Each little pine needle swelled compassionately and became my friend.I clearly felt that my kind existed here. Although I was in what is commonly called a desolate and desolate situation, the closest to my blood and the most human was not a person or a villager. There will be no place that will make me feel strange.