honey bees filled the air, which was heavy with the stupefying sweetness of milkweed.  A raspberry bush loaded with ripe berries – as I picked them and ate them, I closed my eyes a moment – flies hummed; I was back in Post’s woods again as a boy picking berries – the blue mists of the Dutchman’s it was all there but the occasional roar of falling coal at Reese’s mine-
     Proceed – new hoptoads on dry mud near ditch ponds from which came at times the dull croak of a frog – mourning dove – wood lilies –
     Strike southwestward with view to striking creek – Red raspberries – tarry awhile in the shade of a pasture-tree – cross road and strike creek, which was swollen by the torrential rains of yesterday and the day before – Remove socks and shoes and cross it, the cool water delightful to my feet – up over hillside skirting woods.  Lunch meagerly on two oranges and a cheese sandwich – The air resounds with hum of insects – a powerful droning sound that dominates everything – to the south on a slope under the noon sun’s rays farmers are gathering hay – a cicada sings timidly – at once I am snatched from late June to August – the whole aspect of the countryside changes while he sings – afar the new metal top of a silo glistens-
     Proceed S.W. as before – cross a narrow road – into woods which is patterned with the choppy mud-trails of cattle – strike westward – drink at cattle watering place – up over fields – a north and south road – a group of horses making for the barn -  a woods at far end of this pasture attracts me – the sudden transition from the  glare of the open pasture to its deep black shade is startling – thru it and into open fields again – north cross road, which looks unpromising – around a little field of young corn –
     A feeling of complete freedom and detachment comes over me – I thought of my painting and of impending exhibitions for which I would have no pictures ready