Now that I am here I cannot tell what is in the wind -and this is indeed its greatest charm, like the woman in love-stories. Oh the pleasure of lying on a wind buffeted hill, hours of dreamy idleness!
I ate lunch by the side of a woods. The songs of cicadas & the sun rays filtering down thru a cobwebby dead hemlock. (Few things are more lovely)
Thinking of the harbor life, and its leisurely character, it seems as tho work in one of the elevators would have none of the grimness that I associate with modern industry.
...to Upton Hall for one “last” look – Don there, as well as Earl Wolfgruber, Bob McPh. [possibly McPherson] & his family. Later Edna L. [Lindemann]
Dreamt last night our house was situated in a marsh-like place – I was younger / I went down under the house
All day on "Song of the Peterbird" picture (Shall I change the title to "Sun, Clouds and Rocks?") – I felt in fine fettle, able to tear into the picture, making changes & inventing new themes and details
Rain commences late afternoon, becoming a steady downpour by night – a spring rain is a beneficent act
One could stand in it and feel sheer physical pleasure in its contact –
At afterglow time To Bentley’s – Pipers – woods + frogs in the glassy ponds – In the twilight woods – a leaf wistle - a bird flies up at my foot unseen – a stray wind in the trees – I heard the stream coming out of gray void – Hoary ghostly fields
Thinking of my project of a whole new series of “Months”...
Memories: A little hill rank with new long grass, and dandelion seed-heads all stewwing in the boiling sunlight.