Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 24, 1943

Feb. 24 — Wed.
I wonder if it would be possible to single out any one day – or event in a day, and say “This is the first sign of Spring.” (For true Spring has nothing to do with the March Equinox) – Sometimes early in January the glow of light under the eaves of a house at sunset will give a subtle hint — More positive is, (as happened this year) a brilliant sunny day early in February when little hummocks of snow catch the sunlight in a blinding white glare, which is in violent contrast to rich cold blue shadows streaming over the gray snow (gray because it receives the sunlight obliquely) — Another hint is the way smoke from a chimney looks against the pale afterglow in the sky on a midwinter day.
     But these signs, definite, if subtle, tho they be, did not prepare us for the three days just passed — bright sunny days, as if transplanted out of March. So warm was the sun (60º yesterday) that all the snow has disappeared except the great cakes of ice along the creek (deposited by the suddenly falling waters) and the great rotten snow-banks in hollows and the depressions on the northern sides of hills.
     On Sunday morning at about 5:00 the ice in the creek commenced going out – I had heard the sound for several minutes before I realized what it was. Then I looked out — The eerie light [32] from the full moon in the west, revealed the choppy heaving ice-choked creek, sweeping powerfully along, overflowing the island. A beautiful memorable sight.
     Monday [March 1] – [Bertha] & [Arthur] & I to Wyoming Village by way of Route 20 — At the village we bought some honey, then parked and went to visit the cemetery up on the hill. A beautifully located burial ground — high up overlooking the wide valley, with Norway pines as guardians — Some very fine old stones here, dating back to Revolutionary times, and the sun was just right — falling aslant from the southwest, revealing the low relief with sharply accented light.
     A fine hour — as if we renewed our roots in the soil. The strong “March-like” wind rippling over the dry bleached out grassy hillsides, bringing a chill air from the snow-clogged ravine adjoining, and stirring the pine needles in the tick gloom under the ancient pines.
I felt renewed in spirit —
     Home by way of Warsaw – (The grim cliffs jutting in the road leading out of the town, with great masses of greenish ice.)
Charles E. Burchfield, February 24, 1943