Dec. 16 – 1925
     December is a fine month – it has none of the grim harshness of real winter yet – occasionally there are fleeting glimpses of that transient season known as Indian summer – mild days that come unexpectedly when all things are softened, days that are like the dying sunlight that shows on the tips of distant thunderheads long after it is dark below.  And even its dark gloomy days have none of the stark pessimism of November, but are truly mystical.  The winter solstice is approaching, and a dark brooding is over the earth.
     (Sunday, Dec. 13 – a cold, blustery layer cloud day – my window – I like my workroom with its windows looking out over the backyard + distant fields – a great sense of security and isolation, wind blown pines + the dark red barn – birch tree – To the north white smoke from the trains- once in the afternoon a random ray of sunlight struck the smoke producing a startling effect.
     With a fine companionable wife, lovely energetic children that come running to meet me, health, a job + a good friend – what more could one ask?  I walk outNiagara Streetto work in the cold morning sunshine, at peace with but ready to defy the world.
     I like to be in bed at night and see Orion outside my window.  This constellation, with the Pleides, also have become as important as the moon and sun.  On stormy nights the town becomes mysterious – the sky sinister with a vast white pallor from the city in the Northwest – the windows rattle + bang + the arc lights to the south sparkle.