My entry about the weather yesterday morning must have been born of my own banal spirit.  For the major portion of my walk this morning I walk along unseeing my mind tortured by bitter thoughts – there seems no solution of  my dilemma – all at once after I passed under theFrench Rd.bridge, I became conscious of the power and beauty of the morning – the clear brilliant sunshine, the wide sky, which opposite the sun was of a marvelous deep blue color – the trees glittering with ice and snow, the white steamy smoke from locomotives – it all poured in upon me, and I felt the existence of a higher Power, to whom I could dedicate my spirit.  I stood still and closed my eyes, (on all sides mysterious rumblings) and took courage at the thought that no matter what happened, I could fall back upon this.
     Atnoontook out the ashes and sifted them and burned the waste paper – any kind of work to bring one outdoors in the raw brilliant sunshine!  While I worked with the ashes the sun burned my cheek, while my side to the north was cold.  The heat and flames from the  burning paper made writhing transparent shapes over the sharp white snow.
     No wind. Dappled sky – half sunlight –
     Sky heavy gray – objects become black against the snow.  A raw chill invades the house –
     E.P.M. 33
     0   – Snow commences to Fall, which later the same temperature turns to rain.  By evening it was snowing again.
     I have spent the last few days sorting and arranging my notes from 1922 onwards – The multitude of ideas that never have seen the light of day fills me with discouragement – I realize this: that making so many pencil notes is but another form of procrastination – sometime at a more convenient season I will carry them out, must have been the thought.  It would be better perhaps if I threw out every pencil in my studio and have only brushes to work with, for a thing done in color with a brush however scanty, is infinitely of more value than an even more carefully worked out pencil drawing.[1]