Morning mists over the lake, the _Pelee_ coming up out of them.
Just had a night with John and a corking good run of work. We've
been watching the sun go down from Lynster's[15] back lately, and
breathing the planetary heave under the stars, with the milky
way dipping to the lake before us. This inland place is heavy
to take. The weight of agriculture is like a blanket over all.
It takes three or four pages to bore up through the cuticle. Me
for a get-away to the world soon--to feed up on the hum of feet
and voices and cars.... Blackbirds are beginning to blacken the
mornings and nights again; touch of Fall and Pine-smoke this
morning. Real itchings in the ankles--to you! A wonderful synthesis
for us all when we meet up again.... I'd like to roam the world
with John. He is a grand pal. Could joke over an oven made out of
a tomato-can, as well as eat from a banquet table....
[15] The saddle horse.
A day or two later:
... Black forces strong around Stonestudy last night.... About
eight-thirty I rode over on Lynt, to sleep with John. Decided to
have a debauch with tea. While I worked on, he gathered the cups
and tea and electric tea-kettle together and got things going.
He called for me to come and make the tea. He was seated in the
big chair with a tableleaf in front of him, and on that was the
tea-kettle, boiling.... One leg slipped, and the whole boiling
collection went in his lap.... A prince, the way he stood it. The
bunch was just coming back from town. Penel' rushed over, and the
next was a turmoil right, cries, olive oil, lint, rags, confusion
of voices and footsteps--too many people and the little guy sort
o' lost his control--but it all came back again. Almost any minute
I am looking for the laugh from him. All night I was with him.
Penelope, the finished heroine as always. One could see the shades
of pain pass over John's face time and again. His nerves jump--but
his mouth and eyes are certainly getting a grand hue of steel....
Yours right along.
Another:
Hazy summer about. Blue over the lake with shadows deepening in the
distance. Crops drying beneath the sun. Leave it at its height--am
headed back for Columbia--where I'll let time shape the winds for
farther "going."
School is not harmful to one who _is_ himself. I'll take
philosophy, and then be over to tell you who stole your
washboard.... It is no struggle, no test, for one to be lit among
his own as we are. One's depth of listening is best tested in
crowds. We've got to separate--go out and change the continents
into tablelands of democracy.
War seems settling on the world for years longer, but there is a
bigger order coming out of the incredible chaos. Each must see God
and worship through his work to shape the master beauty. Every
one's art breaks new roads which lead to one place.
Stories are coming freer every day--I've gotten across. Don't
know whether it's the best thing for me. But I've done it, and
that's what I wanted to know. It is all preparation. Results are
beginnings. I look back now on the summer of '14. It _was_ heaven.
It _was_ peace. To look at the cottage lights and hear the voices
of rowers through the dusk was a breath from God. It was peace, it
was relaxation, a deep resting of tissue for turmoil. Depth and
mastery to you.