We are sinking in the fog.
4000 ft.
The light of the exhausts is beginning to show as pink as the last glow of the sky. Endless foggies. The view is too vast and lovely for words. I think I am happy—sad admission of scant intellectual equipment.
I am getting housemaid’s knee kneeling here at the table gulping beauty.
* * * *
Rollin Kirby in the New York World
© Wide World Photos
FOR NINETEEN HOURS ONLY A SEA OF CLOUDS