Approaching Rain

July 30, 1852

            Caught in a thunder shower, when south of Flint’s pond.  Stood under thick trees.  I care not how hard it rains, if it does not rain more than fifteen minutes.  I can shelter myself effectually in the woods.  It is a grand sound, that of rain on the leaves of the forest a quarter mile distant, approaching.

            I live on an east-facing downslope.  And most of the summer storms in our area come in from the west, so I never get a chance to see them coming.  (If Montana in "Big Sky" country, here in New England we are "Small Sky" country.)  But sometimes you can hear it -- the thunder, of course, then the winds picking up.  Then, the rain, but usually all in a rush.  
            I'm captivated by the image here -- from a quarter mile away, the sound of the approaching rain.  One part of Thoreau's genius is that he hears and sees the things that we're too busy to notice.