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way up a bare hill side, husking [[strikethrough]] corn [[/strikethrough]] from a large pile brought from the field on the other side where it grew. Another large stack of it was on top of the hill like a monument to the harvest. The people sitting amongst the scattered stalks and piles of golden ears gave the sympathetic charm to the landscape which other wise would have been more cold. A stone wall, path, stump of a chopped tree, plowed field any suggestion of man being or having been present, always makes a landscape or should I say nature, more impressive wonderous and mysterious to me. I feel just now that I never will be satisfied with just painting atmospheric conditions and changes of light, but if I can, to get a feeling of reverence for this great wonderfull drama, of which I am one of the gropers. I wonder if it is possible to get it just in the painting of a tree? Trees always do seem a great deal like people to me, some have the characters of children young men and maidens, old men strong and healthy, others battered by the storm, look like Rembrants head of the few, who has stood many storms, looks at one with a sad melancholy, one who has felt the sorrows and joys, feels for humanity, carries his burden silent as a tree. My dear girl I am afraid I will have you thinking me inconsistent again if I go off in such wild flights as these which I feel stronger than I seem to know how to express. I often hope you will encourage me to do it and will stand being made a target for my gushings help and teaching to find and express myself. you have helped me a great deal more than you may perhaps ever realize. I love and admire you for it. If there is any love and sympathy in me I hope