I cry all the time now.

I cried all over the street when I left Seattle Wobbly Hall.

I cried listening to Bach.

I cried looking at happy flowers in my backyard, I cried at

the sadness of the middle-aged trees.

Happiness exists I feel it.

I cried for my soul, I cried for the world’s soul.

The world has a beautiful soul.

God appearing to be seen and cried over. Overflowing heart of

Paterson.

Seattle, February 2, 1956