Evening was romantic – the dusk of imminent rain filled me with melancholy and yearning.
My mind grows very uncomfortable at times, as tonight. I am haunted by the thought
that the poetry in me is rapidly drying out...
There is such a stillness on the air; the only evidence that nature is breathing are the soft leaves falling slantwise.
Dense fog – oppressive humid weather – depressing.
I want to start my new version of “Sunburst” and yet dread it, and keep putting it off from day to day on the slightest excuse. (I did start it a few days later, establishing the mood on the first “go” which is always to the good)
A glorious October Day—the epitome of October warm and sunny with just a slight breeze at times—We concluded that the most satisfying of fall colors are orange yellows, oranges, and all variations of these...
I often wonder what I am, naturalist or aritst, for the pursuit of one hinders the other—I seem to be deciding which it shall be—Of course it must be an artist...
Every once in a while H – surprises me by expressing, seemingly unconsciously, a fine poetic thought...
not a sign of rain or wind, and yet we know that a storm is far away constantly approaching. It gives to this dead calm a sinister quality it would not otherwise have.
A mild October-like day with a fresh calm blue watery sky—how the season has advanced—now the sunlight comes from lower down in the south and has a brighter more direct light on things—