Went over to my studio, built a fire and tried to paint a little Winter Moonlight, a scene from here during these brilliant winter nights, but I was too unhappy to work. My studio and my dear little house made me sad and I could not control myself. I came home and Sara tried to comfort me, but I had to pass through an agony of tears before I could compose myself. What does it all mean and am I thus to suffer always. I hope it is but a passing cloud of depression and that there are physical reasons for it.