A Notice in Times, that Kenneth Grahame had died. – it occupies my mind at my waking moments all night – This morning thinking of his “Wind in the Willows” and the delight it gave me when I was a youth. I arose early and walked east to the dam. The Early morning wind was there, but how much water has gone under the bridge since I first dreamed of misty wind thru early morning willows! –
Coming home I imagined I had learned to play the piano and had learned of a rare composition composed by a Russian which depicted the story of a lover, how he and his bride started on their honeymoon and ran into all sorts of terrible misfortunes at the hands of ruffians—
In Studio most of day – playing my collection of Jazz records, enjoying the reminiscences they evoked.
At 10:20 baby girl born. (The long heart breaking ride to the hospital over bumpy roads in a Ford with Bertha in agony).
Saturday evening to “Blue Island” to see the fireworks a solid stream of continuous display – thrilling and beautiful – at the end ground and air fireworks all going at once...
"...Two cows under a tree by the road. Shortly after, a farmer coming up toward the cows. We thought it best to ask his permission to eat there, and he agreed pleasantly..."
The whole lit up by the mellow light from the horizon sun, very beautiful. In fact, wherever one looked, the effect was ravishing – elysian.
As the fog lifted up from the dripping trees this morning, a catbird hastily sought the highest branch of our apple tree and sang copiously. White sun in loose fog mists – Robins singing –
June 30—a week of unusual heat—Today too hot to stir about—go for a walk in the evening up in the fields—the sun just about to touch the horizon—
In bed,—the lightning increases in brilliance, almost continuous—the wind rises; the poplar tree outside my window, a writing tortured black many fingered mass, with wild lightning curling around it—(trees—crazy black shapes, outlined with phosphorescent yellow and emerald, against the vivid white)— I felt all the thrill of 1915.