All the Moods of My Place
This morning at four. Great full moon over Nally’s hill, pale and clear. A faint mist hanging over the wet grass of the bottoms.
More and more I appreciate the beauty and solemnity of the “Way” up through the woods, past the bull barn, up the stormy rise, into the grove of tall, straight oaks and hickories, and around through the pines on top of the hill, to the cottage.
Sunrise. Hidden by pines and cedars on the east side of the house. Saw the red flame of it glaring through the cedars, not like sunrise but like a forest fire. From the window of the front room, then he, the Sun (can hardly be conceived as other than he), shone silently with solemn power through the pine branches.
Now after High Mass the whole valley is glorious with morning light and with the song of birds.
It is essential to experience all the times and moods of this place. No one will know or be able to say how essential. Almost the first and most important element of a truly spiritual life, lost in the constant, formal routine of Divine offices under the fluorescent lights in choir—where there is practically no change between night and day.
May 30, 1961, IV.122