February 23, 1917
The light is stronger now. It’s still a far way from spring, but the sun’s rays are stronger and the light is coming into the Shack earlier in the morning. By 7am, it’s as bright as it can be during the day. The morning sun comes through the windows, the rays onto my working canvas.
The stronger light is lifting my spirits. Spring is not far away. It’s making me yearn to up North as soon as I can. I remember Alex going up to Mowat Lodge by himself and it was pretty miserable for him. It’s only Shannon and his family during the wintertime and they only kept the kitchen stove on the north side of the lodge going. Alex froze in his room, just like the water jug. I’ll wait until it gets a bit warmer, later in March.
The opening of the Spring Exhibition is just two weeks away, on March 9th. The Hanging Committee has finalized their selection and Jim is working on the program now. They set the date for the OSA Annual meeting for March 13th. I heard that Florence, Frank Carmichael and Frank Johnston have been nominated as members and will be elected at the meeting.
I’m working up another large canvas. It’s large. It should keep me occupied for a while – not just my hands, but my mind too. When I put my efforts into a new canvas, it takes my mind away from all the things going on. But sooner or later, the world pulls me back. It’s an escape, but the real escape will be to leave from here.
Tom Thomson's Last Spring 
What was Alex thinking? Shoulda hung out with Tom in T.O. for the winter