Spitball Army

I’m dreaming in over-saturated colors again.

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[Written to Alice in Acton, Indiana.  Return addressed: Richard, Ward 11, U.S.N.H., St. Albans, L.I., N.Y.  Postmarked at Jamaica, N.Y., on 7 Feb 1946 at 6 P.M.] Feb. 7, 1946 Hello Sweetheart,      Do you remember what that “Hello” is supposed to mean?  Well, thank goodness there weren’t many letters that I had to use it […]

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They rush with the wind, for cover. “It never rains here,” I divine, pointing out the cloudbank. It drives NNE and leaves us dry.

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Card is titled: “D-35. Various Species of Cactus as seen on the Desert. 6A-H2321.”

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This will just be a short note to let you know that I’m O.K.

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The more I think and dream, the more I want you. It seems like I spend most of my time dreaming.

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This letter writting business isn’t doing so good. I don’t get it. The time just seems to fly by too fast for me.

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It started raining last night just before mid-night and it is still drizzling. Very nice sleeping, I just couldn’t force myself to get up.

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I got the box with the canned goods yesterday. Boy — that pineapple sure was good. Didn’t last long though.

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I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to write you today, but Mother Nature was on my side.

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