Grateful for Life
Brilliant, windy day--cold. It is fall. It is the kind of day in October that Pop used to talk about. I thought about my grandfather as I came up through the hollow, with the sun on the bare persimmon trees, and a song in my mouth. All songs are, as it were, one's last. I have been grateful for life.
Many strange things I remember: for instance, if I had only stayed with the cross-country team, at Columbia, until the end of the season, I would have had my "letter." Why think of that?
Great clouds of seed fly in the wind from the poplar tree.
The new magazine, Ramparts, had two impressive pictures of Brother Antoninus in a black and white Dominican habit, among birch trees. I know he often feels as I do. I must write to him and say, "Courage! We are honest men!"
Deep pessimism in a letter from E. I. Watkin. I cannot say there is much hope to be seen among politicians and military men.
October 23, 1962, IV. 260
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