Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Friday, March 19, 2010
Interior Design 84
Original art by Alice Nelson McCoy
Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Prepared for her Interior Design class at Washington University, St. Louis, MO
Circa 1950
Saturday, March 13, 2010
3-21-49 Alice Nelson - Like a Flower
like a flower that you've seen - implanted in dry parched earth - by looking at it you can almost see it yearning, longing, devising, stretching, & straining for moisture - for the drops of the warm spring rain or for the simplest gentle morning dew - you can see it begging for the moisture that it knows it must have, that it should have, that it was meant to have - just so do I need & yearn for love - the warmth of a hand-clasp - the heaviness, softness of a kiss - the strength which comes from desiring fulfilling desire -----
the invulnerability which comes from being wanted & needed -----
my love has been like a flower whose desire to live - to continue to bloom under a warm sunlight & gentle moonlight - to absorb endlessly the life-giving caressing rain - to share its substance with the honeybee so as to be part in substance of each other blossom on God's earth - whose desire for these things has not allowed it to surrender - kept it from surrendering to the merciless heat of midsummer's day, to the cruel, crushing, beat of torrential rains, to the creeping bite of sudden frost - whose desire has given it the strength to spring back full of hope & faith for more sunrays, more moisture, more of the same -----
over & over this happens - each time the flower seemingly asks for more - refusing to give up to the forces until one day .......... the first signs appear - a little less, fervent desire for the sun's heat - caring not quite so much if its petals sparkle or not - & so at last it wills complete surrender only when it feels the tug on its root-strings, the tapping of its stem-stream of life-giving materials, indicating the birth of a new bud bursting forth, eager for the wonder of a new search for life, for love - beginning the cycle of desiring & fulfilling all over again.
the invulnerability which comes from being wanted & needed -----
my love has been like a flower whose desire to live - to continue to bloom under a warm sunlight & gentle moonlight - to absorb endlessly the life-giving caressing rain - to share its substance with the honeybee so as to be part in substance of each other blossom on God's earth - whose desire for these things has not allowed it to surrender - kept it from surrendering to the merciless heat of midsummer's day, to the cruel, crushing, beat of torrential rains, to the creeping bite of sudden frost - whose desire has given it the strength to spring back full of hope & faith for more sunrays, more moisture, more of the same -----
over & over this happens - each time the flower seemingly asks for more - refusing to give up to the forces until one day .......... the first signs appear - a little less, fervent desire for the sun's heat - caring not quite so much if its petals sparkle or not - & so at last it wills complete surrender only when it feels the tug on its root-strings, the tapping of its stem-stream of life-giving materials, indicating the birth of a new bud bursting forth, eager for the wonder of a new search for life, for love - beginning the cycle of desiring & fulfilling all over again.
3-21-49 Alice Nelson - Random
scuddling purple clouds - heavy & ponderous - poisonous looking.
the rain water trickled along the center of the alley - the rough bricks beneath made the water cris-cross as it ambled slowly - like a woven band - carefree casually rolling around obstacles - small piles of wet decaying leaves - tattered scraps of cloth, black & spotted with dirt & time.
soaked milk pods - swollen with rain - spongy but empty - felt each in among the wet, tangled vines - found one yet bursting with & bearing its tightly packed seedlings (?) - put it in pocket to save till a warm sunlit dry day when the light, winged fluffs would be free to drift & float on invisible breezes -----
black, coarse, soaked, rough, loose bark of the common sycamores - all the stronger more solid & more determined for their wetness - one among them spotted with colors like purposefully camoflaged - like a lovely water color - each muted, earth tone, melting into the next - all golds, browns, ambers, russets - dappled -----
the dittering & rattling of several abandoned leaves still clinging (desperately) (indifferently) to their ------- suited high up above the rain gutters ----- my mood - alone & forgotten by the wind & earth & all -----
"rain puddle-mirror"
glistening streets
the banded sky
the naked, sweet briar bushes - each black soaked twig & branchlet strung with rain drops - gracefully posed - each impatient for a lover breeze to give it gentle encouragement to take independent flight - in brief ecstasy before joining its infinite kin deep in the spongy - saturated - rejuvenated earth ----- against the pearl grey twilight clouds, each black twig was like a fine strand of jet set with priceless diamonds & emeralds -----
emeralds = embryonic leaves - budding so boisterously - so defenseless yet so unafraid & so infinitely sweet & tender ----- each a translucent glowing young green - exhuding & inspiring eternal hope & harmony -----
have you ever looked deeply & long into a rain puddle-mirroring a stout sycamore - making it appear ever so much more powerful & ----- wind-swayed limbs create a dizzying effect - appears to be devil-like - reaching downward - growing away from heaven - each black branch like a horny hand clawing & grasping -----
the rain water trickled along the center of the alley - the rough bricks beneath made the water cris-cross as it ambled slowly - like a woven band - carefree casually rolling around obstacles - small piles of wet decaying leaves - tattered scraps of cloth, black & spotted with dirt & time.
soaked milk pods - swollen with rain - spongy but empty - felt each in among the wet, tangled vines - found one yet bursting with & bearing its tightly packed seedlings (?) - put it in pocket to save till a warm sunlit dry day when the light, winged fluffs would be free to drift & float on invisible breezes -----
black, coarse, soaked, rough, loose bark of the common sycamores - all the stronger more solid & more determined for their wetness - one among them spotted with colors like purposefully camoflaged - like a lovely water color - each muted, earth tone, melting into the next - all golds, browns, ambers, russets - dappled -----
the dittering & rattling of several abandoned leaves still clinging (desperately) (indifferently) to their ------- suited high up above the rain gutters ----- my mood - alone & forgotten by the wind & earth & all -----
"rain puddle-mirror"
glistening streets
the banded sky
the naked, sweet briar bushes - each black soaked twig & branchlet strung with rain drops - gracefully posed - each impatient for a lover breeze to give it gentle encouragement to take independent flight - in brief ecstasy before joining its infinite kin deep in the spongy - saturated - rejuvenated earth ----- against the pearl grey twilight clouds, each black twig was like a fine strand of jet set with priceless diamonds & emeralds -----
emeralds = embryonic leaves - budding so boisterously - so defenseless yet so unafraid & so infinitely sweet & tender ----- each a translucent glowing young green - exhuding & inspiring eternal hope & harmony -----
have you ever looked deeply & long into a rain puddle-mirroring a stout sycamore - making it appear ever so much more powerful & ----- wind-swayed limbs create a dizzying effect - appears to be devil-like - reaching downward - growing away from heaven - each black branch like a horny hand clawing & grasping -----
March 14, 1949 Alice Nelson - Etc.
----- My love has thrived because it was planted, it took root, & it blossomed under his care, his warmth & his love - it had become sturdy and strong when neglect & disinterest became its fate - too sturdy & too strong to allow itself to be killed by this frost, this change of manner - like a zinnia or a hardy weed it continues to grow - perhaps not to grow, but to simply exist - waiting, yearning, hungry for the return of spring like some dormant or hibernating thing having a great will to live on, in spite of present discomfort - however, if this is to be an eternal winter, my love will forever preserve its present state until perhaps another spring, another kiss shall reawaken it to its hidden lustre & lushness -----
Etc.
----- the one great defect in the mechanism of man is his absolute inability to control the strength and determine the destination of his heart waves -----
Etc.
----- I hate myself for continuing to love so wholeheartedly someone who cares so very little for me - where's my pride - where's my ambition -----
Etc.
Etc.
----- the one great defect in the mechanism of man is his absolute inability to control the strength and determine the destination of his heart waves -----
Etc.
----- I hate myself for continuing to love so wholeheartedly someone who cares so very little for me - where's my pride - where's my ambition -----
Etc.
May 6, 1946 Free Writing
Nelson, Alice
As I watched, the irregular puffs of frothy vapor which were scattered about the graying sky became faintly tinged with gold. The last finger-like rays of the sun groped about, peeking through pale, translucent leaves. Seedpods from budding maples spun and swirled to earth with a rustle. Carefree sparrows, waving and soaring far above the slender poplars, were but specks silhouetted against the vast blue sky. A shiver rippled along my body; the shadowed earth felt chilled and damp beneath my bare feet; the sun had passed below the line of trees, leaving me in the silence and solitude of dusk.
(I wrote this last night after taking a walk around the block.)
As I watched, the irregular puffs of frothy vapor which were scattered about the graying sky became faintly tinged with gold. The last finger-like rays of the sun groped about, peeking through pale, translucent leaves. Seedpods from budding maples spun and swirled to earth with a rustle. Carefree sparrows, waving and soaring far above the slender poplars, were but specks silhouetted against the vast blue sky. A shiver rippled along my body; the shadowed earth felt chilled and damp beneath my bare feet; the sun had passed below the line of trees, leaving me in the silence and solitude of dusk.
(I wrote this last night after taking a walk around the block.)
6-28-56 Moving Day and 7-5-56 Rabbit Dance
We are moving today from Pgh. to Cleveland by way of our vacation (St. Louis, Barrington & camping in Canada). I'm waiting for the van now - sitting on the back step in the morning sunshine - it's a grand day & gives a perfect last look at this place we've called home for 2 years. The sky is such an intense cloudless blue the oak & chestnut trees are such a rich, deep green, almost black against the brilliant blue - they are in their summer fullness - the wind rustles them & rounds the sides against which it blows - the multitude of cherries on the two trees by the old black house are a beautifully vivid spark.
The sun is bright against my lids & very warm against my skin. I've been sitting here enjoying the things late sleepers miss - such a magnitude of life can be witnessed on the small square of pavement at my feet - in this small space, in this short span of time I've seen several kinds & sizes of flies, ants, a grey-armored doodle bug, a tiny (young?) cricket, bronze wigglers, and a minute red spider, round with 3 or 4 legs on either side, scurrying like the wind, smaller than the head of a pin.
-------------------
Last night I saw a thing that put a sheen on everything for me. I was putting up the blind before getting late into bed & I saw this wonderful spectacle taking place on the street, driveway and lawn of a house down the hill. (now 7-5-56). Two rabbits of good full-grown size were performing - whether in courtship or just play, I don't know - but they would face each other about a foot or two apart, hop lightly in small arcs then one would make a playful lunge, and the other would hop straight up all of 2 feet or more & land on the same spot & they would circle some more. I'm afraid I failed to notice whether or not it was the same rabbit that jumped each time but this went on for about 10 minutes, then one became more interested in nibbling on the grass the other followed suit - this they did, moving gradually out of my sight & off to bed I went.
The sun is bright against my lids & very warm against my skin. I've been sitting here enjoying the things late sleepers miss - such a magnitude of life can be witnessed on the small square of pavement at my feet - in this small space, in this short span of time I've seen several kinds & sizes of flies, ants, a grey-armored doodle bug, a tiny (young?) cricket, bronze wigglers, and a minute red spider, round with 3 or 4 legs on either side, scurrying like the wind, smaller than the head of a pin.
-------------------
Last night I saw a thing that put a sheen on everything for me. I was putting up the blind before getting late into bed & I saw this wonderful spectacle taking place on the street, driveway and lawn of a house down the hill. (now 7-5-56). Two rabbits of good full-grown size were performing - whether in courtship or just play, I don't know - but they would face each other about a foot or two apart, hop lightly in small arcs then one would make a playful lunge, and the other would hop straight up all of 2 feet or more & land on the same spot & they would circle some more. I'm afraid I failed to notice whether or not it was the same rabbit that jumped each time but this went on for about 10 minutes, then one became more interested in nibbling on the grass the other followed suit - this they did, moving gradually out of my sight & off to bed I went.
June 21, 1956 - Horses
the first day of summer
the longest day of the year
We drove out Route 19 after dinner to a farm near Hickory - were invited there through a girl in Bob's office - where a friend of hers raises horses. At first was disappointing - all we could see were run-down bldgs - a nice enough barn and a delapidated shed but it became much much more than that -- first of all, we took turns riding a 4-year old mare named Clover - palomino and gentle - around a rect. pen - it felt good to be on horseback again - I felt as though I belonged there & hoped I looked it - she would walk along one end & one side but then turning toward the other end & side & back to the gate she broke into a nice trot & into a canter - oh, it felt so good & so free.
While I rode her Betty came close to play & Clover balked & reared & swerved but I held my seat & her & loved it!
I am completely without inhibitions when I am riding - feel & seem like another person - I revel in it, I cannot help from grinning broadly & all but laughing out loud - oh, blessed freedom of it - she became hot & tired & Jack walked her some & then tried to round the group of mares & 2 colts over closer to us - there were seven mares, sorrel, roan, palomino, buckskin & dapple and a pale, pale colt and a more dappled one.
Oh, is there any more beautiful sight than that of a horse running free - any age - & the sight of those colts running close beside their mothers was a joyous thing to behold - something I had never seen real so close before. I climbed the fence & stood there on a rung of it, seeing the horses in the foreground & hill upon hill against the darkening, still color-stained sky, with their broad round green surfaces broken by darker trees & more horses & cattle in the distance & I said aloud, I think it was aloud, that here was the essence of it all - the essence of all my hopes, plans, dreams - all this was me - I felt at one with it, part of it, close to God - I knew at that moment that God heard my prayer - somewhere, sometime I would be justly at one, at home, in such a place - the sky at 9:15 was still pale hazy - the whole scene was moist & lush & vaguely misty, everything softly outlined - later as we were leaving I leaned against a new fence, still smelling strongly of new wood, & looked up at a row of cottonwoods rustling with the gentle rush of air with the veiled full moon beyond & I felt that if I would only live in such a place day in & day out, night & day, season after season, in rain & sun, cold & heat, I would - what was the right word? - mature, ripen, develop, become a person, an individual, my writing might there flourish & take form - I would be an adult part of this world - if only it will not come too late.
And driving home I felt strangely as I've never felt before - the whole night was so beautiful - I said at first, was a night of nights, but it was not - just another beautiful night of an infinite number of beautiful nights at any time of year, in any part of the world & I wondered if, since the beauty I saw & felt was in me, could a night in France or Sweden or Africa be any more beautiful? I suppose everything combined to make me feel as I did - the horses by sight & by feel, the countryside, the full moon, open & clear by now, the softness of the air & Swan Lake on the radio - but I never remember having felt so rich & so full before - I wanted to smile, cry, yawn, sing, fling my arms out all at once - I felt so full & so satiated as to have an actual queasy feeling in my stomach - I felt as though anything more would make me literally burst - I felt that if I should die feeling like that, I could have asked no more of life & this earth.
---------------
J. said when a horse is kept in pasture, he does not seem to sweat when ridden, even hard.
---------------
& too, when a palomino is kept out thru the winter their cost bleaches out to be as pale as his tail & mane, but will darken to its natural reddish tan when inside for any time.
the longest day of the year
We drove out Route 19 after dinner to a farm near Hickory - were invited there through a girl in Bob's office - where a friend of hers raises horses. At first was disappointing - all we could see were run-down bldgs - a nice enough barn and a delapidated shed but it became much much more than that -- first of all, we took turns riding a 4-year old mare named Clover - palomino and gentle - around a rect. pen - it felt good to be on horseback again - I felt as though I belonged there & hoped I looked it - she would walk along one end & one side but then turning toward the other end & side & back to the gate she broke into a nice trot & into a canter - oh, it felt so good & so free.
While I rode her Betty came close to play & Clover balked & reared & swerved but I held my seat & her & loved it!
I am completely without inhibitions when I am riding - feel & seem like another person - I revel in it, I cannot help from grinning broadly & all but laughing out loud - oh, blessed freedom of it - she became hot & tired & Jack walked her some & then tried to round the group of mares & 2 colts over closer to us - there were seven mares, sorrel, roan, palomino, buckskin & dapple and a pale, pale colt and a more dappled one.
Oh, is there any more beautiful sight than that of a horse running free - any age - & the sight of those colts running close beside their mothers was a joyous thing to behold - something I had never seen real so close before. I climbed the fence & stood there on a rung of it, seeing the horses in the foreground & hill upon hill against the darkening, still color-stained sky, with their broad round green surfaces broken by darker trees & more horses & cattle in the distance & I said aloud, I think it was aloud, that here was the essence of it all - the essence of all my hopes, plans, dreams - all this was me - I felt at one with it, part of it, close to God - I knew at that moment that God heard my prayer - somewhere, sometime I would be justly at one, at home, in such a place - the sky at 9:15 was still pale hazy - the whole scene was moist & lush & vaguely misty, everything softly outlined - later as we were leaving I leaned against a new fence, still smelling strongly of new wood, & looked up at a row of cottonwoods rustling with the gentle rush of air with the veiled full moon beyond & I felt that if I would only live in such a place day in & day out, night & day, season after season, in rain & sun, cold & heat, I would - what was the right word? - mature, ripen, develop, become a person, an individual, my writing might there flourish & take form - I would be an adult part of this world - if only it will not come too late.
And driving home I felt strangely as I've never felt before - the whole night was so beautiful - I said at first, was a night of nights, but it was not - just another beautiful night of an infinite number of beautiful nights at any time of year, in any part of the world & I wondered if, since the beauty I saw & felt was in me, could a night in France or Sweden or Africa be any more beautiful? I suppose everything combined to make me feel as I did - the horses by sight & by feel, the countryside, the full moon, open & clear by now, the softness of the air & Swan Lake on the radio - but I never remember having felt so rich & so full before - I wanted to smile, cry, yawn, sing, fling my arms out all at once - I felt so full & so satiated as to have an actual queasy feeling in my stomach - I felt as though anything more would make me literally burst - I felt that if I should die feeling like that, I could have asked no more of life & this earth.
---------------
J. said when a horse is kept in pasture, he does not seem to sweat when ridden, even hard.
---------------
& too, when a palomino is kept out thru the winter their cost bleaches out to be as pale as his tail & mane, but will darken to its natural reddish tan when inside for any time.
6-12-56 Sugar and Vinegar
Sunday we revisited the Hartman's farm and I was swept by nostalgia for strange things - I remembered fondly last year's two week stay there - a time of cool, foggy mornings, clear, ringing nights - I could remember the taste and smell and feel of many things - it was a time of tomato and onion slices in sugar and vinegar, the faint inside smell of age and dampness and the strong outside smell of sun-warmed pines - days of hot, wearing sun & persistent, buzzing insects and nights of endless, open wonder.
The layout of the house is friendly and comfortable - just like my farm house should be. In a way it was like being in a home I had always known. I could almost hear the angry squaks of the geese as I walked through the barnyard though they are no longer there.
The view from the hilltop was as grand as I'd rememered it, as inspiring & as wonder-ful. And again I felt that a place just such as this would give me everything I want and need for a full & satisfying life - would be all I could ask.
The layout of the house is friendly and comfortable - just like my farm house should be. In a way it was like being in a home I had always known. I could almost hear the angry squaks of the geese as I walked through the barnyard though they are no longer there.
The view from the hilltop was as grand as I'd rememered it, as inspiring & as wonder-ful. And again I felt that a place just such as this would give me everything I want and need for a full & satisfying life - would be all I could ask.
Friday, February 26, 2010
6-12-56 Tomorrow is Tomorrow
The night holds it, the air holds it, the moon, stars & wind hold it, but where am I to find my share of it? I guess I never shall find it except in my writing. There can be no fulfillment of this hunger without more ill than good and so I want none. Already the pangs are lessening & I wonder now what stirred me so earlier. Nighttime is a gentle, lonely time and breeds such (I want always to be at peace with Bob.) wondering, wandering thoughts.
Tomorrow is tomorrow.
Tomorrow is tomorrow.
5-5-56 May Apples
clumps of may apples - their low-lying leaves shone & sparkled in the sun
dandelions, carpet of
fruit trees in opening bloom
a spring-blue sky
many young leaves on bush & tree were tinged with a reddish newness
dandelions, carpet of
fruit trees in opening bloom
a spring-blue sky
many young leaves on bush & tree were tinged with a reddish newness
10-12-55 Huston Smith
I want to remember here some things Huston Smith mentioned on his Hindu (?) program of the Religions of Man TV series. He said that the Yogas compare the restlessness of the mind of man - first with a monkey in a cage - but that is not quite restless enough - they add that it is like a drunk monkey in a cage and then must go still further & give this drunk monkey in a cage a case of St. Vitus' Dance - but this conception is still short of the mark and they achieve the desired comparison only when they say the mind of man is as restless as a drunk monkey in a cage with St. Vitus' Dance who has just been stung by a hornet! And he said, they strive to learn and do learn through their various body positions, to concentrate completely and absolutely on whatever idea they wish as long as they wish. Their minds will stick to an idea as a lump of dough thrown at a certain spot will stick until, and only until, they wish to remove it. What a treasure that talent would be!
10-12-55 The Back Doorstep
I sat outside just now on the back doorstep, wanting to gain some satifsaction (that's not quite the word - someday I'll put my finger on it) from this October nighttime - but I didn't stay long - the sky was sparkling clear and the air refreshingly cool, but the street noises, the lights & houses were all too close and I had no tree under which to sit, to look upward and through whose leaves to single out stars. There were only the hillside of house lights and the steepled church lit up by a pale blue glow - all like a Reporter cover and I could see straight ahead where 51 would curve around the red sky glow signifying the pouring of the glowing slag from its train of bucket cars.
August 28, 1955 - Home From The Farm
We came home from the farm today. I knew I'd miss it but I didn't know in what ways. I have missed it already in several ways - unconscious ways. I felt out of place on the parkway coming home - somehow as though I were being returned to some place I did not want to go - some place of confinement. We are happy here at 3349, but it is confining after what we have lived the past two weeks. And tonight as I sat quilting & watching the TV I hadn't missed, I felt myself resisting the idea of going to bed. At the farm I never resisted it, but here I did. I didn't, I don't want to close the day. Why, I asked myself. It seemed somehow connected with that idea of confinement. Here all there is, is the shelter of this house - four sides & a roof above. That doesn't seem like enough. I guess I was waiting for more - for something better to close the day. Out there, there was so much more than the walls & the roof & the space inbetween - there were fields behind and before - there were chickens to feed & look after - there was space all around & infinite space above - a whole, full sky above from horizon to horizon, from hill to hill, never dull - never ending - and there were the views of those horizons and those fields - full, satisfying views, staving my hunger & thirst for life & growth & progress & beauty & freshness & nature. There were an eternal number of things to notice & to absorb - to love and joy over - the somehow pathetic leaf plucked from the apple tree behind the house - already a mottled red & yellow - warm & beautiful in its premature autumn scheme - recalling all the sweet, sad remembrances of that best of all seasons; the comical resemblance of the small chick as it bent over to scratch, to a fat boy in knickers viewed from behind; the mother hen a perfect picture of the doting mother, large in bosom and of managing nature; the gladsome variety of wild flowers, some resting close to earth and others stretching tall above the earth - a multitude of colors & shades of colors, pink, lavender, deep king's purple, golden yellow & butter yellow, creamy white and periwinkle - some feathery, delicate - others bold & confident, making a richer bouquet than could be cultivated; the endlessly varied pageantry of the sky & clouds, never failing to rest me & supply me with hope and joy and peace. All these things and many, many more will be missed. And here I want to express my gratitude to God for all such things, true expressions of His qualities.
I guess I was satisfied to close the day on the farm because I knew the things that made the farm & all the countryside important & valuable to me, would be there tomorrow, if not the same as they were today, then different, more interesting, more developed, but still in all unchanged - while here I'm not so sure about tomorrow - the things I must deal with are of lesser value, of more temporal nature & not nearly as satisfying. The farm things gave me more fulfillment during each day & when night fell & was met, it was enough & bed was welcome - but, perhaps in the city there is no fulfillment, at least for me.
I guess I was satisfied to close the day on the farm because I knew the things that made the farm & all the countryside important & valuable to me, would be there tomorrow, if not the same as they were today, then different, more interesting, more developed, but still in all unchanged - while here I'm not so sure about tomorrow - the things I must deal with are of lesser value, of more temporal nature & not nearly as satisfying. The farm things gave me more fulfillment during each day & when night fell & was met, it was enough & bed was welcome - but, perhaps in the city there is no fulfillment, at least for me.
8-18-55 'Til Now
Today has been cloudy & I've been inside 'til now, reading, playing the piano, and cleaning. Didn't hear that strange bird last night - wish I knew what made the call. The sunset last evening was lovely - layers of pink, peach, orange & even smoky green clouds smeared across the whole of the sky - I watched while the sun sank & took its gaudy scarves with it - the color, drained from those clouds leaving them grey & drab like the colored flavoring I suck from a popsicle leaves the tasteless ice behind.
Yesterday I walked up the hill behind the barn up to the row of hawthorne (?) trees & sat & watched the panorama that was opened to my eyes - I could see hills overlapping hills & distant farms & fields all diminished by the tremendous reach of sky above - it was a joyous sky, exciting & activating - it appeared that the different layers of trembling clouds were sailing in different directions but I think just the lower strata was moving swiftly, appearing to make the upper static layer move in the opposite direction.
There was a hawk flying above the trees opposite & I watched her - she barely moved her wings during the whole time I watched her flight - she soared in a spiral - banking around & then over & up higher, around again & again, catching, I guess, and using to advantage each updraft of air - I can hardly describe the joyous freedom & complete effortlessness with which she rose higher & higher 'til I scarce could keep my eye on her - over, around & ever upward with never so much as a flutter of her wings. I envy that hawk & it reminds me of Bob's and my secret promise - to learn to fly soon.
I'm getting so to like the chickens here - I never knew any so well before. They are certainly social - almost to a bird they grub or rest together - I like to watch them look for food - they're sharp eyed & seldom miss an insect their beady eye spies - their large feet mince forward, all eyes alert for aught that moves - their head bobbing at a great rate - the layers of feathers down to the base of thin neck sliding forward with each bob - there's one now having a try for the buttons on the knees of my kneepants - I like the soft, fluffy mess of feathers about their legs & hindparts like feather boas - they come down to their knees like ruffly pantaloons - when they crowd around my hand as I sprinkle the feed in the trough I can feel they are warm & cushiony - soft & smooth - they rest from their labors & the heat of the day under the peony bushes or lilac bush, all puffed out & round - there's an old hen in the barn yard whose red comb is so large as to flap over one side of her head, comically looking like a sunbonnet or rakish cap.
Yesterday I walked up the hill behind the barn up to the row of hawthorne (?) trees & sat & watched the panorama that was opened to my eyes - I could see hills overlapping hills & distant farms & fields all diminished by the tremendous reach of sky above - it was a joyous sky, exciting & activating - it appeared that the different layers of trembling clouds were sailing in different directions but I think just the lower strata was moving swiftly, appearing to make the upper static layer move in the opposite direction.
There was a hawk flying above the trees opposite & I watched her - she barely moved her wings during the whole time I watched her flight - she soared in a spiral - banking around & then over & up higher, around again & again, catching, I guess, and using to advantage each updraft of air - I can hardly describe the joyous freedom & complete effortlessness with which she rose higher & higher 'til I scarce could keep my eye on her - over, around & ever upward with never so much as a flutter of her wings. I envy that hawk & it reminds me of Bob's and my secret promise - to learn to fly soon.
I'm getting so to like the chickens here - I never knew any so well before. They are certainly social - almost to a bird they grub or rest together - I like to watch them look for food - they're sharp eyed & seldom miss an insect their beady eye spies - their large feet mince forward, all eyes alert for aught that moves - their head bobbing at a great rate - the layers of feathers down to the base of thin neck sliding forward with each bob - there's one now having a try for the buttons on the knees of my kneepants - I like the soft, fluffy mess of feathers about their legs & hindparts like feather boas - they come down to their knees like ruffly pantaloons - when they crowd around my hand as I sprinkle the feed in the trough I can feel they are warm & cushiony - soft & smooth - they rest from their labors & the heat of the day under the peony bushes or lilac bush, all puffed out & round - there's an old hen in the barn yard whose red comb is so large as to flap over one side of her head, comically looking like a sunbonnet or rakish cap.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
8-17-55 Not a Cat's Meow
I heard the strangest sound last night. We were reading in the living room while the radio played softly & pleasantly. All at once I heard or thought I heard a sound over & beyond the music - I listened intently, trying to separate the sound & identify it - from where I sat, it sounded like it might be the small white & black cat that stayed around the barn, like the small, plaintive cry of a lonely cat but when I went on to the screened porch I heard it distinctly & it was not a cat's meow - it was a sad, mournful & eerie cry - I motioned to Bob to come & hear for himself - it could only be the call of some bird, completely foreign & fascinating to my ears - it reminded me of what I had read of the call & habits of the poor-me-one bird of Columbia, Panama and tropical America - it had the same sound of some desolate human being, crying out in sorrow & anguish - was the same type of call - a series of notes, six or so, starting high and falling with each note - it gave me the strangest sensation, not a little uncomfortable-
would that I knew someone who knew about such things & with whom I could discuss such experiences & who could teach me & tell me the things I'm so interested in knowing.
would that I knew someone who knew about such things & with whom I could discuss such experiences & who could teach me & tell me the things I'm so interested in knowing.
8-16-1955 Compliments of Hurricane Connie
We arrived out here Saturday night in the last fine drizzle of a day of steady rain, compliments of Hurricane Connie. We unpacked, settled ourselves, received a few last instructions and went off to bed - the air coming through the open windows was damp and chilly & getting into bed under cool sheets & a blanket smelling of a cedar chest was very pleasant - the odor reminded me of something good and warm & friendly - the nights since have been warmer & we haven't needed the blanket, but the mornings are cool and everything outdoors is heavily dewed.
It warms up well by noon & the sun is hot & direct & the insects swarming - the only flaw in the whole experience. They buzz and hum & swoosh about my head but fortunately do no more harm - no mosquitos to bite. The dogs are finding comfort in the shade of the young maple on the lawn near me. My surroundings are beautiful & all but soundless. I looked out across the valley at the opposite hill & felt awed by its beauty but on thinking just what was beautiful about it, I could say no more than trees & sunshine and shadows & what is so beautiful about only these things? Only that I love them & love makes beautiful. And there is beauty in the clean, even unbroken (save for one treetop) line of the ridge of yonder hill, in the space of a field between two woods - it is smooth & fresh green & might be the edge of the world.
This morning while I sat on the porch, reading, I heard some chickens, might have been the hens in the barn, cackle & chatter as if in alarm - it would seem that it was a warning call of some kind for I noticed the mother hen, loose in the yard with her chick, had ruffled her wings & feathers and squatted down right where she was while the tiny chick nestled close to her under the feathers with only its head exposed.
Yesterday while filling a bucket from the shallower pool in the spring house, I saw, with mild horror & surprise, two pincers rise from the settled mud at the bottom - was a crawfish I had disturbed which commenced to crawl awkwardly through the tiny spillway into the deeper portion of water.
Another curious thing, indigenous I suppose to such situations as this, is the clarity of sounds issuing from across the valley - sounds of people, animals & machinery carry with a loudness belying their distance - almost with a sound of mechanical amplification.
It warms up well by noon & the sun is hot & direct & the insects swarming - the only flaw in the whole experience. They buzz and hum & swoosh about my head but fortunately do no more harm - no mosquitos to bite. The dogs are finding comfort in the shade of the young maple on the lawn near me. My surroundings are beautiful & all but soundless. I looked out across the valley at the opposite hill & felt awed by its beauty but on thinking just what was beautiful about it, I could say no more than trees & sunshine and shadows & what is so beautiful about only these things? Only that I love them & love makes beautiful. And there is beauty in the clean, even unbroken (save for one treetop) line of the ridge of yonder hill, in the space of a field between two woods - it is smooth & fresh green & might be the edge of the world.
This morning while I sat on the porch, reading, I heard some chickens, might have been the hens in the barn, cackle & chatter as if in alarm - it would seem that it was a warning call of some kind for I noticed the mother hen, loose in the yard with her chick, had ruffled her wings & feathers and squatted down right where she was while the tiny chick nestled close to her under the feathers with only its head exposed.
Yesterday while filling a bucket from the shallower pool in the spring house, I saw, with mild horror & surprise, two pincers rise from the settled mud at the bottom - was a crawfish I had disturbed which commenced to crawl awkwardly through the tiny spillway into the deeper portion of water.
Another curious thing, indigenous I suppose to such situations as this, is the clarity of sounds issuing from across the valley - sounds of people, animals & machinery carry with a loudness belying their distance - almost with a sound of mechanical amplification.
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