I open my eyes suddenly – the whole world is a ghastly, ghostly white – slowly normal colors return – a honeybee comes to investigate my orange-peels – crows –
     The magic spell passes and I stir myself to seek for a new subject.  Wander thru the woods, and suddenly see it.  A great gaunt black tree, dominating the swamp, at its foot a little pond – My paraphernalia set up, I get to work – The quiet past-noon sunshine pouring down.  The pond full it seems of hundreds of what I finally discovered to be little frogs.  I left my painting to sit by the pond and gaze into its yellow transparent depths – it is literally teeming with life – countless tiny creatures swimming madly in all directions – caddice-worms with their thatched houses – large black water beetles moving leisurely about – suddenly I saw one of the pipers – a tiny frog-head above the surface of the water, with a bubble that swelled at each utterance – soon I saw more and more of them –
     From time to time I must leave my paintings to gaze into the pond.  Just as I finish sketch, a young boy comes from a nearby farm – a friendly open-faced boy with a trusting smile – he thinks my drawing is “swell” – he informed me that the pond was over his head in the middle – Contact with a boy like that always leaves me somehow with a renewed faith in mankind. –
     East across fields intending to walk a little before getting bus home. A little farm house group that tempted me to a sketch, tho I was too “painted out” to do it proper justice – The soft notes of blue-birds filled the air – level sunshine sweeping over the bare fields-
     Strike out for Clinton St. To east a black church with white window frames and white houses lit up by the sun against dreamy beech woods with pine trees scattered in it – my mind is dulled but content – In Clinton – some little hillocks still have masses of cold blue snow – bus soon comes along-