The rain turned to snow in the night – the refreshing mist of sifted snow dampened my face at 6 o’clock – In town shopping for Christmas, and most of the afternoon writing some unavoidable letters – but the house atmosphere cramped me – at last I am free, and taking the snow shovel I clean paths – the healthy vigor with which I did this, and the joy of physical exertion were such as I have not experienced for many a day.
Before supper for a walk – bitterly cold – it is dark, and a raw wind drives fine snow from the north – automobiles with their garish lights, light up ribbons of drifting snow.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, December 1, 1930