Friday Mar. 3, 1911
     This morning we agreed, I go up and got ready to go over to Bill’s. As I went out in the grey, cold morning, the March wind met me, whistling and roaring thru the branches, the sky was overcast with grey cold cold clouds which moved slow across the sky; the cool wind felt delicious as it blew in my face. I went out High Street, delighting in the whisperings of the early morning. I stopped at Bill’s and whistled, and on receiving no reply, I concluded that he wasn’t going, and so I went on. As I came to the Frog-pond, which was covered with ice, and pasture fields beyond, I noticed how brown and bleak they seemed - every thing - grass, bushes and trees, but I liked them all the same, no matter how they looked; and the swaying trees seemed to be nodding secrets to each other.
     Crossing the frozen pasture, and climbing over several fences, I entered Bentley’s woods; no sounds could be heard but the March wind rustling the dead leaves on tree and ground; the breeze was scattering the clouds too, and with the increasing light the deep blue be visible. I walked on, following the frozen path, thru patches red brambles and young saplings. On a tree I found an empty cocoon, and with a view to finding good ones, I pushed my way