Old forgotten memories pour in on me like an avalanche – my joy is great – flock of white butterflies clustered around damp place in the road – a cricket chirping from someplace – cicadas singing – the sunlight pouring down out of the vast hazy southeast, over a cobwebby wooded hillside –
A soggy bank along the road wet by an oozing spring – touch-me-not and other plants wet with dew...
Charles Burchfield, March 24, 1931