Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, March 13, 1915

The air is full of silver haze born perhaps of the moment when the sun’s first thin gold struck the frost whitened grass; the sky is whispy; there is no wind blowing, yet there seems a sense of irresistible movement as the sun slowly advances upward. There is blue smoke from bonfires pushing up into the haze; I hear hens cackling at times —there is a spring sound! — and at times carpet-beating what would the day reveal in some woods?  What is going on in the Dutchman’s or at Rosemeadow?

Charles E. Burchfield, March 13, 1915