B [Bertha] & I out for drive at late afternoon – south to Glenwood & west to Boston, home on Cole Rd.
Yesterday morning, noticing how fast the morning glories seemed to be growing — I put a mark at the tip of one at 9:30. By 3:15 it had grown 2 3/8 inches, and in 24 hours it added 6 ½ inches.
Nature herself will not admit of a partial love—you must give yourself to her entirely and when you do so, you will find that Nature will more than meet you halfway.
Roofs and sidewalks quickly became wet and reflected what light there was; the grass bristled with water-drops as after a heavy dew...
The last sounds attending dying day – the goodbyes of disbanding players; - the shout of one neighbor to another, a woman calling her boy – finally died away leaving the night in full power, with its most pulsating song, and screech owl wail.
To Zimmerman Rd. Painting. A warm but fresh day. How good to be out again in this wild secluded spot...
Putting away the 1917 sketches—Turning to Ideas of the present—trying to get into a mood to work outdoors on new things. Studying the work of 1952 - one of my better summers, as it appears now.
A dream—Back in Salem, Art & I - at the old home - Here everything was topsy-turvy— the present owners were enlarging and altering the house.
When I am attracted to a scene, if I do not sketch it, (considering it of not sufficient importance), I have a feeling of having lost something –
There ought to be a love so natural that it does not hinder the artistic life—love should be merely one of the unconscious functions of life—