At the Beaver Creek, a fine “stand” of arrowheads made us decide to stop a moment to take in the scene. A fine moment – The sun making more headway against the mists...
"...at the base of which were long rows of abandoned coke ovens, sometimes in tiers of three or possibly more."
There are so many times that I literally let my mind wallow in unspeakable, depraved imaginings...
The fishing-trip.
A fine, windy day. The walk out an enjoyable one. The air is warm but fresh and the breeze is cool.
Wheat in shock-yellow fields.
All things have an air of compactness. The clouds seems solid. The ground is hard by the alternating process of dashing rain and hot sun. The trees, tho windblown, seem a solid mass.
Songsparrows the only song.
Rolly chipper of goldfinches a new note—roadside birds.
Come to bridge. Jim sets turtle lines and fishes a while.
Proceed north along creek. Clumps of beautiful butterfly weed along the stream. Watch visitors and one clump. Monarch butterfly—looked as tho freshly out—first I have seen. Skipper, bumble bees, one or two milkweed longhorn. They are more plentiful on common milkweed species.
Last night in the half sleep; I imagined I had gone in the boat to a corner of the lake (I had been here in the morning)
This tiny corner of the earth that is ours gives a feeling of such deep content and security; this is the base to which we can always come back, and be ourselves, alone, completely free from the outside world.
All at once a black weasel comes out on back and shakes itself vigorously - I remain statuesque.
A dream – Back in Salem, Art & I - at the old home...
"A dream...Spotty was with me, not sick as now, but well and full of life. Towards dinner time, I picked her up, and carried her up the ravine's steep bank..."
I held a barn-swallow in the palm of my hand – what a thrill! It had been hit by a car, and lay struggling feebly on the road. It struggled some more when I picked it up...