It was everywhere, this indefinable and intangible yearning feeling -
The sky a heavy oppressive yellow. Smoke a heavy dull blue hovers upward with difficulty into the thick air...
... to frond fields – landscape should charm by its immensity of space, the form of hills, the glow of light –
I enlisted the aid of Bertha, who came cheerfully to my rescue...
“Vorfrüling” is here. A few days ago I saw it on my way home from work—the intoxicating chill in the air after a day of warm sun & streets of running water; now as the sun is setting fronds of ice forming on the still shallow pools of water; the sunward sides of buildings have a brave warm look — any object or person no matter how crude, at such a season becomes chock full of romance.
It was a perfect winter day, beautiful beyond description. The hills covered with round domes of snow, the sky a smooth flat expanse of gray, & the fine slanting snow; at times the sun showing a pale blue disc, which illuminated the whole air & earth with a blinding white glow so that it was hard to tell the hilltops from the sky.
There have been many explanations of dreams, most of them futile; my own has been simply that previous experiences or thoughts, uncontrolled by the conscious mind, run riot in sleep – But I think that, longing or nostalgia, whether conscious or subconscious, plays some part in the direction dreams take…
About noon “an old friend of twenty years standing” – called up, who proved to be “sergeant” Pearson, one of the camouflage boys at Camp Jackson.
Two slightly cold days. An easy wind and ceaseless sweep-away of cold blue clouds.
Bright clear sunshiny days, with only enough chill in the morning and evening to make life worth living