“There are some strange summer mornings in the county, when he who is
but a sojourner from the city shall early walk forth into the fields,
and be wonder-smitten with the trance-like aspect of the green and
golden world. Not a flower stirs; the trees forget to wave; the grass
itself seems to have ceased to grow; and all Nature, as if suddenly
become conscious of her own profound mystery, and feeling no refuge
from it but silence, sinks into this wonderful and indescribable
repose.”

—Herman Melville, Pierre: or, The Ambiguities, 1852.