Thereiscommonlysufficientspaceaboutus。Ourhorizonisneverquiteatourelbows。Thethickwoodisnotjustatourdoor，northepond，butsomewhatisalwaysclearing，familiarandwornbyus，appropriatedandfencedinsomeway，andreclaimedfromNature。
ForwhatreasonhaveIthisvastrangeandcircuit，somesquaremilesofunfrequentedforest，formyprivacy，abandonedtomebymen？Mynearestneighborisamiledistant，andnohouseisvisiblefromanyplacebutthehill-topswithinhalfamileofmyown。I
havemyhorizonboundedbywoodsalltomyself；adistantviewoftherailroadwhereittouchesthepondontheonehand，andofthefencewhichskirtsthewoodlandroadontheother。ButforthemostpartitisassolitarywhereIliveasontheprairies。ItisasmuchAsiaorAfricaasNewEngland。Ihave，asitwere，myownsunandmoonandstars，andalittleworldalltomyself。Atnighttherewasneveratravellerpassedmyhouse，orknockedatmydoor，morethanifIwerethefirstorlastman；unlessitwereinthespring，whenatlongintervalssomecamefromthevillagetofishforpouts——theyplainlyfishedmuchmoreintheWaldenPondoftheirownnatures，andbaitedtheirhookswithdarkness——buttheysoonretreated，usuallywithlightbaskets，andleft“theworldtodarknessandtome，“andtheblackkernelofthenightwasneverprofanedbyanyhumanneighborhood。Ibelievethatmenaregenerallystillalittleafraidofthedark，thoughthewitchesareallhung，andChristianityandcandleshavebeenintroduced。
YetIexperiencedsometimesthatthemostsweetandtender，themostinnocentandencouragingsocietymaybefoundinanynaturalobject，evenforthepoormisanthropeandmostmelancholyman。
TherecanbenoveryblackmelancholytohimwholivesinthemidstofNatureandhashissensesstill。TherewasneveryetsuchastormbutitwasAEolianmusictoahealthyandinnocentear。