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Conger Reynolds correspondence, March 16-31, 1918

1918-03-23 Conger Reynolds to Daphne Reynolds Page 1

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Thirty-six. March 23, 1918. Belovedest.- This is Saturday afternoon. The warm, spring sunshine i s pouring into my open window. In the little garden the birds are singing. From somewhere uptown comes the music of a military band, and every now and then out of the fathomless sky comes the drone of an aeroplane motor like the buzzing of bees in summer. It is a day when one feels the joy of living. Here I sit, very comfortable, feeling well in every way, with nothing pressing me but the desire to write to my wonderful sweetheart, with a lot of her delightful letters before me, celebrating my fete day. For that's what it is. I suddenly realized this morning that I had passed another year-stone in my progress toward years of maturity.
 
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