July 4, 2012

Two planets low in the east at dawn, far north of where the moon rose, one atop the other, though a little askew. One must be Venus and the other Jupiter, but I’m not sure of that. They are more golden than I am used to those planets’ being. They shine in lonely majesty, while all the rest of the sky–except where the moon sinks in the west– is deep blue marble.

Call from KNB, in the midst of which I realized I had missed, again, my reunion at Hiram. But this was the 40th, a big one, probably the last that will mean anything. I did know about it and might have gone. A certain coldness– I can’t explain it. For most of my life my experience there meant the most to me of any segment of my life, and I spent time and thought trying to get back. But now. . . there is some grudge in my heart, and I don’t know what it is. It’s not the place it was, of course, hostile now to the sort of free intellectual inquiry that once reigned, more a business than a school. I did offer–even beg–to come back when a position was open, but the said they couldn’t afford me, which may or may not have been the truth. But I think it’s something more metaphysical. Maybe Adam, passing along the bitter road and realizing suddenly where he was, wouldn’t have turned aside for a glimpse at former Eden. The pain would have been too great.

Kevin the frog hymns the two vast hanging lights above his pond.

It being Independence Day, I am going to think of America all day long.

Most of my recent 4ths have been spent out of the country, where they celebrate it as much as we do. Fireworks in Sligo. Huge parties in Galway. Sweet picnics at Lucy Cavendish under the perfect trees.