My First Summer 



mony of the sunset, and back I go to camp 

 with my notes and pictures, the best of them 

 printed in my mind as dreams. A fruitful 

 day, without measured beginning or ending. 

 A terrestrial eternity. A gift of good God. 



Wrote to my mother and a few friends, 

 mountain hints to each. They seem as near 

 as if within voice-reach or touch. The 

 deeper the solitude the less the sense of lone- 

 liness, and the nearer our friends. Now bread 

 and tea, fir bed and good-night to Carlo, a 

 look at the sky lilies, and death sleep until 

 the dawn of another Sierra to-morrow. 



July 21. Sketching on the Dome, - 

 no rain; clouds at noon about quarter filled 

 the sky, casting shadows with tine effect on 

 the white mountains at the heads of the 

 streams, and a soothing cover over the gar- 

 dens during the warm hours. 



Saw a common house fly and a grasshop- 

 per and a brown bear. The fly and grass- 

 hopper paid me a merry visit on the top of 

 the Dome, and I paid a visit to the bear in 



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