Yours of the 15th, with a welcome "amen" by Bower, came today just after I mailed a letter to you. I had been "thinking about you and thinking about you" and making letters and letters that did not reach the mail; and I thought I wouldn't wait any longer.
What you said about my writing in the shed (cool) shed at my mother's place reminds me of something that meant much to me at the time. I wrote "Prayer of an Alien Soul" in that shed. My "study" was a tiny portion of the shed that had a rude raised floor. It was no bigger than 4 x 5 ft. There was a window (no glass) and it was opened, there was some light in the place — enough to write by. There was a weed that came up through a crack in the floor. I watched it with great interest and sympathetic understanding. It was white from lack of light, and it was fighting its way up to that window and the broad day outside. It made it after a long struggle! It was a long, stringy, pale weed, but it took on color when it had reached the Day! Look in my "Prayer of an Alien Soul" & you'll find the weed. (Incidentally, I meant what I said in that Prayer. Lucile, I still mean it! Do you understand me?
Yes, the "Funny Place" (now covered by the fine, new expensive dwelling) was very important. It was a place of Wonder.
In that place, mystery took over and the best was true. We just sort of thrilled together in that place — the kids and I. We did that for years afterwards too. In this connection I remember a even an enchanted night in our pasture at Branson. It was a cold (woooo!) night, but we thought it would be a good idea to go down into the pasture under a tree that was an old friend of ours, build a
rousing fire and ""sing sing poetry". So that is what we did — Enid, Hilda, Alice & I. At the time we had a Jersey cow, an Angora billy goat, a horse, a cat, and a collie dog. They were all a bit "fey" themselves (which is to say, pleasantly & harmlessly "nuts") and they all came down to our big fire, which they surrounded,
heads in.
By golly, it was truly a holy family — the cow (a fine lady), the beautiful billy goat (a perfect gentleman), the collie (another another fine gentleman), the Tom cat (still another very fine gentleman). The goat crowded so close that he singed his long beard, & we had to push him back. These all seemed to listen intently while I
"sang poetry" to the kids, putting on the swells for utmost effect. O my goodness, Lucile! It was all right, wasn't it? Wasn't it?!! Such stuff is for you, and it will get into your story. It was not done to impress anyone. It was divinely real, and the blessed animals knew something good was happening. (The kids have never forgotten. The animals are said to be dead.)
I'm so glad Bower added that "amen". Maybe he will write me a whole letter; maybe he might care to tell me something of his constructive dreams! (Here I remember old Socrates — bless him! — and what he said to his judges, according to Plato. While he was waiting for the verdict, which he knew would be death — he saw no reason why they should not sit together as friends and 'tell each other their dreams.' Well, we too know the verdict of this world, and we know it is the "dreams" that matter). Yes, Lucile, the letters are better than nothing — O so much better! But there's so much to say.
John.
