growing more & more sluggish, from the snow to a patch of dry grass.
     I reached the canyon on the edge of a large sugar bush sooner, than I expected. The snow was still deep here. The spot where I stopped was one of these places in a woods that seems to have something special about it - something that cannot be definitely explained. You stop at a certain place, and everything seems transformed - yet what it is, is hard to discover - a few fine seedlings, some slender beeches and maples, with deeper woods beyond. Snow commenced to fall and the wonder & beauty of the world suddenly seemed too much to endure. From far below came the murmur of the stream in the canyon.
     The sugar camp was going - steam from the boiling sap.
     Northwards up & down hill - snow increases. The abandoned house - blackbirds flying out of attic.
     It was a miserable drive home, sleet freezing on the window so I could hardly see.
     After I was in bed, although the temperature was down to 26 - there was lightning and thunder- the latter sounded strange with the roar of the blizzard.
     An article in a magazine titled “Little Letters to God” accompanied by a pinpointed portrait of