What wonderful weather is this fall weather—I can only describe it as capricious. Weather of the Indian Summer type prevails—smoky days of warm elusive sunshine, spring breezes, fast shedding trees, burning leaves, from which comes the rich spicy smoke that we fairly drink in, bright colors, tangy nights of mottled skies and bright moon.
The grass colors beautiful—orange yellow, sun—lit rich reddish brown, pastel shades of pale brown pink, pale ochre, light gray creany white, and some weed that gave off a slate gray color.
A day of great peace and happiness. Out in the car, on dirt road south east of Attica.
Oct. 13 -
On "Late Afternoon in Hills" - all I can do myself -
After lunch we took our chairs further down the road to “watch” the tree. I kept thinking I might make a painting of such a gorgeous thing, but could not bring myself to start.
While I was on a visit to N.Y. in 1920, Arthur B. Davies invited me to his studio, for the purpose of explaining to me a new method of painting in oil tempera with which he was experimenting.
As I went over the rough fields I realized all at once how good the earth was. I stooped and stroked the dry grass and weeds—what a wonderful thing the sense of touch; I squeeze clumps of the weeds & grass to get the feel—the actual contact.
Transplanted peonies in front of the studio, to make way for cannas I intend to plant there next spring. Preparing for spring planting in the fall is essentially an act of faith—it presupposes that spring will indeed come again, and when it does come, that it will be worthwhile to plant things.
On contemplating entering school again, I have the feeling of being about to enter a rainbow.
Altho the October brown is not yet here, there are hints of the November grey, with its pale sun and southeast train whistle.