I’ve slept in the last few mornings, until 7:30 a.m. I usually wake up at 6:00 o’clock, and leave. Since today is Wednesday, they have the clothing hamper tomorrow at the First Presbyterian Church, and I might go. I have two raincoats, but nothing for winter.
Are you serious about working this summer — because I think it’s an excellent plan. The only thing is that anything that would satisfy you might be too expensive for me. And then it is difficult to find a place that will work with your morning and evening schedule. I always want to be able to write you at the library.
I had a beautiful time in Boston. I feel as if I should write you a regular bread & butter letter, as to a host. You were so nice to do all the things with me and for me. It hasn’t rained here, since I moved here, but everyone persists in wearing their springs clothes.
The chimneys here, my exclusive view from one window, are shaped like a merry-go-round, and all winter long the birds come and sit in them to warm themselves. First they sit with their tails inside the chimneys, then they switch around and warm their heads.
I wrote Marianne Moore, and sent her some poems. It seems her mother is dangerously ill, and she can’t leave her this week. I wrote nothing but poetry for two days after that.
April 26, 1934
The most interesting thing I’ve done lately is take Marianne Moore to the circus. We went last Wednesday and had a perfectly beautiful time. She arrived carrying two bags or satchels. One of them contained two paper bags, full of stale graham crackers to feed to the elephants. They like it even better than peanuts.