September 20, 1943
Darling:
Through my porthole ("scuttle" is a more nautical term) I see a most unusual sunset. Out of low-hanging clouds a chute of colored light angles down obliquely to the sea. And oddly enough a twin of the narrow band of sunshine, widely separated from the first, angles down in the opposite direction. They resemble the bowed legs of a rainbow, which hardly gives an adequate description of the spectacle.
These days I'm haunted by the loudspeaker's record programs. I hear the Frankie Carle, Vincent Youmans and Jerome Kern melodies and immediately start dreaming. Today somebody's orchestra played Porgy and Bess. The "Summertime" is always nostalgic to me and it seemed, at summer's ending, to hit me amidships.
Then I heard a rebroadcast of a Jack Benny program which dated to Dec. 28, 1942. This reminded me of Camp Dodge and a cold night as fireman. I'd been in uniform a couple of days and wore my field jacket snugly and jauntily. Fremont already seemed much further away than 160 miles.
I hope you have not been struggling and rushing to send me presents for Christmas. All I want is your continued faithful mail service. You're all the mail I need in this war.
All my love,
S.
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