My dear Gladys:

I have come back to Elenore
again, drawn by your reports of
shrieking birds and windy jonquils.
I found the roses all dead to the
ground and had fifteen of them cut
even with the earth. Already the
new shoots are out. The grass is
much less vigorous and the leaves
have been slow to come, but now they
are well on the way. It is good to
be here again. Usually - in the
past - when I was here I was always
busy with writing something, and
I did not know it if I were lonely,
which I must always have been, for I
have no associates here and seldom
any conversation. There are many plans
for the place which I have not as yet
carried out. The most that one can say
for the place is that it is open and sunny,
wide to the south, a hill-garden. It
was lovely to see you and Kathleen in
Louisville. You brought all the others
near again although they are divided from
me by distances of space and years which
make us over into something else. (I wonder.)

I am pretty much the same as I was
in Louisville. Each day I try for more
strength, even through the distresses of
aching muscles and a dizzy head. Anyway I
am better than I was last summer. Please
tell Eleanor Pellet of me and say that I

will inscribe her books and send them to
her very soon now, if the address I have
for her is still good.

Will you be going north for the summer?

I am sorry I did not ask of Pearl and
Ed. Where are they now? Where are John Toigo
and Marian?

My love to Kathleen. She is so beautiful
and splendid as a metron.

Will you write to me?

1936