Often, late at night, we talk of Danville, circuit friends, horses; he is adept at driving off my melancholia.
“The war is going to end soon,” he prophesizes. “It has to end soon...it’s hard to get hold of new banjo strings.”
The White House
January 5, 1865
So, another year has come into being.
“Many are the hearts that are weary tonight, waiting for the war to cease...”
For days I have been remembering that song. Yesterday, as I rode in the barouche, the melody kept time to the trotting of the horses.
Wind and sun helped, as we rode.
Alone, I was able to commune with nature, able to consider the Potomac, the trees along its banks, the finished dome of the capitol, the monument to George Washington. For a while I was able to survey the property, measure it, plan a city layout.