float idly on thru placid surfaces and soot colored trees stand gaunt and cold – the spirit of November broods over the landscape.
     It is the morning after Thanksgiving – I am again walking – I am walking out French Road – to the south over the vast fields a brilliant sun flashes above a pile of remote lands, that with the sun as the apex form a gigantic pyramid – a pyramid of clouds piles up in the vast remote southeast the sun just manages to get up over the top of it to send its heatless rays slantingly across our Northland – the snow covered fields are brilliant, spotted with black trees where trunks are lost in a fog of drifting snow – I have come home again- !
     When I hear the climax of the Sibelius Symphony there comes to me a vision of a village to the North cowering at the base of a hill – a flash of late afternoon sunlight warms up the hillside a moment –
     Again it typifies to me a whole race of people who have finally reached the Promised Land – God appears in the heavens in a blaze of glory.
     Nov. 30 – A dark rainy day.  A stiff raw wind out of the southwest drives mist and rain in waves.  Atnoonit is like twilight.
     I dress fro the weather and go out for a walk along the creek, crossing the dam and up beyond to the woods.  A great happiness comes over me – once again I belong to Nature – what false Gods have I been delinquent with! – the rain beats in my face, my feet sink in the mire I am secure from, but mingle with, the elements.
     It is with reluctance that I at last turn homeward -