The air is exceedingly rough today. We are flying at 2000. The land which was covered with fog yesterday is sparklingly clear today. The sea is beautifully blue and there are a few light clouds.
We have a sheaf of Halifax newspapers with strange assertions about us all. They will make strange reading matter if we ever have opportunity to re-read them.
Bill is trying to get some one to answer his signals. He can hear others and apparently can send. The radio man at Halifax said he’d listen and answer.
We are flying along the coast. The water appears shallow, as I can see the bottom in many places. A flock of birds rise from the water at our shadow. They resemble in movement and shape the spreading out of the little stars in a skyrocket.
The inhabitants who come to look at us wear red shirts or skirts. Red seems to be a favorite rural color. Cows and horses don’t like us.
What cruel rocks these ledges are. Sharp and narrow, they look like sharks.
I move to sit on a gas can by the window. What a comfortable passenger plane this would be with the gas tanks removed and windows made in the sides. There is a small steamer to the right. I wonder if she knows who we are. I wonder if we know.
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There is more sea than land now and we fly at 1800.
In a way, I am glad of the stop at Halifax, for I always think it better for a motor to run gradually to long grinds.