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Dear Charles -. Christmas afternoon...just growing dark. I'm in the paint shop, alone. I've been thinking of you, W?, and K.

 I went out in the car, just now toward Wytheville. There have been many snow?. It is an old queer? snow?

turning blue.

 Do you remember Peter Benegos - the elder.   May be the man?    It is like that - - bluish white snow, very cold... purple tree trunks...a

man walking across a field..dogs.

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 I hate Christmas. The last two Christmases before my mother died..   She was ill all Christmas. We were presumed to be a envied? family, of

some class. We went with middle-class children.

 So Christmas came We were asked by other children to go to their houses and see their things. There was always a flood.  We had nothing.
 The things didn't matter. My father said - "who wants their goddam things."