When out walking, I have a habit of going along with my head down, deep in thought (imaginary conversations or worries, or problems) and suddenly “coming to”, and looking around at the landscape and sky, I realize what unspeakable beauty I am missing.
A fine morning – an undefined feeling of change is not exactly a “Vorfrühling” hint, but of something not quite winter.
Out near French Rd, a large, male red dog (part chow I imagine) took exception to Spotty’s savage warnings to keep away, and attacked her. Before any harm was done, I managed to give the dog a kick in the jaw that sent him away dazed and crestfallen. I got a great satisfaction out of the incident, for I hate chows as much as I do police-dogs.
Letter from Mrs. Jameson in reply to one I sent to her thanking her for the Brooklyn visit. I must quote one passage:
Referring to the water-colors of mine they own:
“It is such a privilege to have things around us that are an inspiration and pleasure, and more than this, we have real affection for them too. Thank you, very much indeed, for putting these lovely expressions on paper, so that we can see and learn from their message of beauty”
As gracious a thing as anyone has ever said about my art; and only a real spiritual aristocrat could have thought of it.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 1, 1939