Apr. 7, 1926
     The March Wind –
     The March wind comes up out of the vast Southwest, over Lake Erie and across the flat plains surrounding Buffalo.  It sweeps over the semi-suburban country of Orchard Park and Hamburg over bare brown or gray fields and hillocks & smooth far winding cement roads, over hard railroads with white smoke from swift moving engines.  Automobiles abroad on Saturday and Sunday afternoon, looking harshly neat in the sharp sunlight.  Over housetops + clusters of farm buildings with their sugar camps going, & manufacturing plants. The blue smoke from brush fires, streaming against purple woods that are striped with beech trees – The March wind is Master over them all – it sweeps along blending all these dissimilar things into one grand harmonious whole.  I stand by the road listening to the March wind singing in the telephone & telegraph wires – their vibrating fills my whole being.  I lean against one of the poles to feel it shaking & hear the pounding & roaring of the wind-whipped wires.  This dead smoothed out tree hole connected with countless other dead tree holes by fine steel or copper wires, now became