Monday, August 11th

WE DROVE back on Friday, all the way in one sweep on a blessedly cool day, pouring rain for the last hour. It was a deluge, so of course the garden is beaten down. But the rain was so sorely needed I cannot complain. It is only that this summer is rather a listless and unilluminated one for me. Much as I love being with Judy, the fact that all holidays are spent with someone no longer quite there, that there can be no real conversations, no exchange about books, politics, the garden, whatever is close to the surface in my mind, ends by making me feel empty.

I rushed out in the rain and had an orgy of picking before supper that night … the zinnias are glorious, bachelor’s buttons, tobacco (lovely purples and lavendars as well as white), some great spires of delphinium, pale lavendar and bright blue, that Raymond gave me for my birthday.

Next day Phyllis came to fetch Judy and after they left I ran around madly catching up on everything at once. The desk! Staking all the tall flowers in all the garden! Getting in food! Saturday spent itself on all that.

Yesterday I felt exhausted and only managed to write nine short letters in the morning—I used to do at least twenty on Sundays. I used to be able to work at my desk after supper. Never mind! I have an idea that this year of losses and good byes is a transition and that next year I shall have more energy and start a new phase. I have to believe it.