September 6, 1967
I planned to migrate from the cold of the country to the warmth of the eastern way. There the farmland was wide and lasting, as Callings had explained, and that the new house should still be in a good condition, at the mercy of the idled weather. The region, he said, was calm and yet held beautiful views of the country landscape and fields and the mountain ranges afar.
I expected my leaving in five days, enough time of the week to prepare this house. My work should be coming forth, as Callings planned, and my studies should proceed at the silence of Burkshire, hopefuly at my mental releif.
Callings today was at his simple state of things, although he felt unassured by my stability of things. I had taken my breakfast in the cold of the morning, and at the window, I saw that faint sheets of snow had covered the trees and the pines and the passway. The mountain ahead of the frosted field, beyond the forest spot, was also in white at its hazed peak. Not a person passed by on the road, lasting as long as the wooded place. Down each end of the road was a cold, dead blankness of the fog. Above me was also, somewhat, a clear but filled sky, cold and storming without sound. To my hearing, the only thing was the ambient breeze of the air, from my standing and of the horizon.
September 7, 1967
The cold was mild, but I simply had to begin the fireplace in the freezing of my house. The region was lonely, again, and my preperation was going. Today I had to assist my disabled aunt, who was a sick, elderly woman, yet she was strong enough to walk herself around and become useful at the house. I helped her with the medication of the day, and she seemed better than she was years ago.
Maddison, my old aunt, had felt a bit more active, although she was confused most of the time. ''The new house will be good, at this time.'', I told her at the table after our work. ''I hope so, Jeffy.'', as she called me. ''Jeffy, is it cold there, I hope it isn't cold there, oh I hope it isn't cold there.'', she mentioned. ''No, it shouldn't be cold at all, since the storm should be going away.'', I assured to her.
She was finished with the lunch I had helped to serve her, the meat and some peas. We returned to the work of the house, and Maddison returned to her planting in the house, where she kept her lilly pots and roses away from the cold. ''Oh I hope it isn't cold out so much, I'm scarred for my flowers.'', she said to herself, as I regarded her with doubt.