How are you coming? I was just up over the hill behind us, getting
two wounderful qwortz of golden honey. How is your type mill
pumping these days? I got a new story in my bean:--Have an old
fisherman that takes those forks and goes after crabs--have him
find a pot of pearls instead of crabs.--Think if it is done right
it would make a wounder.
When will you be out here? We will lead a pack trane over the
mountains! Oh, that is the old open road! Pack mules, they mean
it to me--a line of mules in the mountains and a couple of saddel
horses! That's the life.
I hope you have changed your mind about them airaplanes. I do not
like the Idea. But, old man, it is for the best, and nothing is a
mistake. Take it as it comes. Write soon, and make the pages fly
like dust to me. I need all that I can get.
Last night was our first bit of rain. Slept in an open window where
my face was sprayed all night with the wounderful cold drops of
spring. When I got up, I was feeling better than I ever did before.
I was all relaxed. I lay a long time just in the wounder of the
wounderful free air and rain. I got up and went down and washed
in more of the soft rain, and ate and went outside to come down
to my work shop. I stood in the wind. Everything around me was so
wounderful. All the trees and flowers were brighter. The hills were
a little damp. The birds were playing and drinking in the rain. The
ray of sun was just coming over the hill. I could almost hear the
breathing of the grass and erth. It was like a song, the great song
of spring and breathing of the world.
That is the way that the new generation will come in after the
world is washed and all countries are _one_. A Boy, young and
clean, will come in, whistling and breathing a Song of the New
Race.