Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 16, 1941

A dream –

A picket fence by and alley, with wild morning-glories growing in profusion over it – early morning with a misty sun rising, the vines wet with dew.  On the leaves were great numbers of “gold-bugs” moving hither and thither hurriedly – a dazzling, beautiful sight –

Then, it seemed I had a small delivery truck which could go where I willed it, without a driver.  It always took the same course, up our back alley at Salem to another alley where it turned left to Vine St, right on Vine to Fifth and then back again.  After I had watched it make this trip several times, I grew alarmed, wondering what would happen if someone got in the way – and this is what did happen – just before the truck got to Vine St. a child came out on his tricycle, right in its path – the truck, however swerved, and went up over a little bank to avoid hitting the child, and then turned over, collapsing and spilling out articles such as one would expect to find in a woman’s purse – memoranda, lipstick, powder, trinkets too, except in great quantities.  Out of the wreckage, emerged a tall thin man, who it seemed had all along been driving the car from some concealed place.

Charles E. Burchfield, January 16, 1941