This weather makes me think of the memorable spring of 1915 – when my artistic consciousness was just beginning to unfold – I think of an inspiring walk I took one March day with F.W., W.E., + W. H. to Brandywine Falls – certain events in that walk stand out clearly almost as if they took place just yesterday.  We came upon a clump of beech branches with the sun shining on them – F. asks me what color the shadow is -  I know he  half expected me to say gray, but I was proud that I really saw  it blue!
     The falls turned my spirit into fire – I stood halfway below in a little ledge of rock – and tried to sketch them – I was enveloped in the cold breath of great masses of ice one the bank behind me – the falls were half in sunlight – the endless play of changing rhythms filled me with joy and despair – I finally had to leave because the older men were tired waiting for me-
     During the walk I unwittingly repeated a remark that an older artist had made about the frames on F.W.’s pictures, which filled him with anger, causing a torrent of abuse to fall from his mouth – I was uncomfortable for the rest of the walk –
     A village calledPeninsula– F.W. – remarked that villages never seemed so uncouth and gaunt as in early Spring-
     The ride home on the train – the golden fire of a setting March sun streaming over the swamps and low wooded hills – the “Swiss Echo song” went thru my head and seemed an embodiment of the day.  It now seems like some legend I once heard.
     That evening I had to go to a dance with some friends.  I remember how uncomfortable I was, how banal the music seemed, how commonplace