Thursday, October 30th

AN END to the radiant days … they have been wonderful. I forget how beautiful it all becomes when the leaves are gone. I have a far wider expanse of ocean, and from my bed can even see waves breaking on the distant rocks. The sun is slowly moving southward and will soon rise in the exact center of my three bedroom windows. The maple has shed its almost last leaf, so the ground for yards around it is blood-red. Down in the vegetable-annual garden I am engaged in a herculean task, trying to get out all the crabgrass and witchgrass so I can pile hay on to be a permanent mulch. It is fun, really, to drag out those long roots and clear out space.

Heard two thunderous shots early this morning—someone getting a pheasant or a duck. I never hear it without feeling depressed, all joy gone for a while. And tomorrow the deer season begins. Luckily it gets dark before five! Then for a night there will be no terror in the woods.

I’m dead tired, so tired last night that I didn’t cook, just opened a can of soup. Maybe it is partly relief, for I have decided, at Carol Heilbrun’s suggestion, to omit the piece on Rosalind and I think this lightens the whole book.