Now only ink!
I begged Uncle to run down three miles to fetch one bottle.
4th—We went to “breathe the song of the forest.”
The forest laces the poet’s canyon.
(By the way, poet’s ground spreads over one hundred and fifty acres. Does he pay taxes?)
We climbed the “Road to the Milky Way.” I beseech your forgiveness, it was merely the name I wished for the path to the poet’s hilltop. I felt as if I were hurrying to the “Sermon on the Mount.” You would hardly believe Morning Glory if she said that sublimity vibrated in her soul, because she was just a little Oriental. How grand! We faced toward the Gate of the Pacific Ocean. We were still. Why? Because we were thinking the same thing.
We traversed the poet’s graveyard.
How romantic to put up a tombstone while living!
How romantic to lie in the ecstasy of a marvellous view! We could be nearer the stars here.
We stepped down to the canyon.