Wed. Feb. 15 – 1933
      A cold morning – The church roof brilliant with sunlit snow, dims almost to extinction the ghostly last half of the waning moon, and a fresh strong wind sweeps out of the southwest – Some poet has re-christened the sun the Day-star – In February it seems most appropriate when it attains such cold brilliance that it seems truly like a gigantic star –
     The high fresh wind from the southwest makes me restless – It brings suggestions of March weather, of brilliant flashes of sunlight quivering on the edges of sugar maple trees, and cold blue tree-shadows streaming toward the northwest –
                                                                        Mar. 11, 1933–
     A dream last night, the only remnants of which are left, are a quarter moon reflected in a little stream running thru a village, on a hot August night – and a remembrance of sunflowers, on  a sunny morning in September to the east –
     The night before – a dream of a village east of Buffalo, like a remembrance out of my childhood – strange interesting house – and gnarled cedars – going out into Buffalo, the eastern suburbs unchanged for years while the rest of Buffalo advanced – in a school room the children used china trays for water-color painting which were enameled with designs of fishes in color
                                                                           Mar. 12, 1933–
     I am lying in bed, after a week of lumbago, which depresses me physically and mentally – I am filled with rage at my impotence.
     A day of music –
     A.M. Dumrosch played a piano concerto by Mozart beautiful in its childlike simplicity – and then the swan of Turonela of Sibelius – its infinite melancholy and sadness revealing itself to me in all its original beauty –
     In the evening by the Boston Symphony –