I had hoped for a breakup of the creek ice but the drop in temperature has checked what promised to be the January thaw –
     But it brought our fist fore taste of March and with it the tortuous agonies that belong to Spring. A.M. walk over ClintonBridge– thru fields toward Fr. Rd. bridge and R.R. Fields half bare – the atmosphere around trees and sky has that peculiar electric vibrating quality that belongs to March.  The looks of purplish soil where wheat is planted –
     For long walk N.E. along New York Central to Broadway toBorden Rd.toFrench Rd.and thence home-
     Today I was in physical and mental good spirits – as I walk over the fields towards French Road, I feel mentally wide awake and receptive – let everything pour in upon my consciousness – the bright sun, the wide melting fields, every tree and bush and clod of earth – even sinking unexpectedly in deep holes under the snow was a kind of exalting adventure –
     As I go past the country school on French Road, the windows are filled with wild-haired boys faces pressed against the panes to watch me, eager for any sort of chance to forsake their lessons –
     Cut across fields with view to reaching railroad – a dog belonging to some men who were sawing wood nearby came after me barking at my heels – I long to turn and give it a good kick, but realize I am on its master’s land, and they no doubt would take I amiss-
     Shortly beyond here is a creek that ordinarily is only a foot wide is now a raging torrent, which I cannot possibly leap – Follow it westward hoping to find a foot bridge or other means of getting across – but was forced to follow it to the railroad[1]