And what is it perhaps that makes music of the cicada’s song? When hearing them, one sees in his “inward eye” an opaque blue sky, with a few heat-whitened clouds pasted to it, a long white dusty road stretching endlessly ahead, lined with dust yellowed plants and windblown trees.
In studio most of day mounting etc. Evening B & I to Three Rod Road – Park on the hill above Williston – A sight rain falling – a pleasant hour...
— There is nothing in a halfway mode of living yet I force myself on, snatching what little I may from nature, only enough to realize what wonderful poetry I am missing...
Westward to visit the spot where three years ago in September I painted the “Cicada-Song in September” ...
I took a walk after sunset tonight along country roads – The pale yellow & blue green afterglow lasted long – Schubert’s unfinished symphonic went thru my mind – The night wind blew a moonlight night across the land after the last light vanished – I dreamed of my future as I went along under the black wind-clattering trees...
B & I to Dr.—Planning our vacation trip next week—To Buffalo Bank, etc—unbearably hot and moist...
A stagnant morning & sultry. Out moonwards the air cleared & after am afternoons of white windy clouds & fresh breeze – the sun went down a clear yellow...
A wonderful, glorious day – my heart is sailing the skies –
At sunset, several huge storms moving mightily along the horizon, in a wonderful array of colors; after the sun is gone, a huge flaming orange spot appears in the northern sky & startles the whole black landscape; the wind from a storm in the southwest already swept upwards the black clawing trees – My pencil was frantic. My heart sinks as I contemplate the shortness of life & the hugeness of my work – somehow I feel I have not fully grasped the full power of my work yet – Love of life has returned to me, but it is a different love & higher – I wonder where it was –
A swift storm at Daybreak though the day is stagnant and sultry – At evening the sun disappears early in the thickening west...
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...