It is difficult to divorce the observer from the poet-philosopher in Thoreau's relations with outdoor life. In truth, the qualities are interdependent. Critics have attempted to prove that Thoreau's gifts, as naturalist, were wholly emotional and reflective, that he was "a sensitive feeler" but a deficient observer. His own confessions offer evidence of the keen, delicate response of both his senses and his soul to the open and subtle phases of nature. Sights and sounds, however, thrilled him less than the lofty visions and ideals which they symbolized. "There is a flower for every mood of the mind." The birds and insects spoke messages of purity and faith to his soul as well as to his ear. Through this same sensitiveness of emotion and feeling, in its literal meaning, he was attuned to all external signs of the weather. He was barometer as well as botanist. He called himself "The self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms."
As naturalist, he was especially accurate and exhaustive in description rather than in classification. The minute portraiture of the expansion of a pinecone, or the evolution of a moth, the gradual unfolding of a sunrise glory on a foggy morning, the careful examination of nature's healing moss to replace turf which had been torn away,—such are some of his detailed word-pictures that linger in
