Mid-afternoon
Rain
In Springfield, Billy de Fleurville’s barbershop was my favorite barbershop. We were friends, Billy and I. Billy is a Haitian. His English is a remarkable mixture of soft, sometimes incomprehensible sounds. A stable person, he has raised a family and has been a civic influence for fifteen years or more. He initiated a committee that brought about a school for blacks. He loves his rabbit paws and his jokes; while he shaves you or trims your hair, he entertains. Since Billy loves gumbo and fricasseed chicken I saw to it that he had more than his share through the years.
At the depot, as the train pulled out for Washington, he was there, handing me a farewell note, to read on the train.
He writes me that tenants are taking proper care of my house and yard.
“Filibuster has kittens,” he adds, in a postscript. “One brown, two yellows.”
Evening
Desk
I treasure a letter from a child named Grace Bedell. Grace wrote me :