January 1. How beautiful the world is! I might go on to say, and how
commonplace this seems written down in a diary; but it is the thing I
have been thinking. I have been standing ever so long at the window, and
now that the curtains are shut I can see everything still. The moon is
shining over the wide white sheets of snow, and the low meadows look far
off and enchanted. The outline of the hills is clear against the sky,
and the cedars on the lawn are almost green against the whiteness of the
ground and the deep, blue-black sky. It is all so lovely that it somehow
makes one feel happy and humble both at once.