Charles Burchfield, Journals March 12, 1922

Sitting by the roaring rapids, that glitter white in the sunlight—

The fields glisten with oily mud—The ground around sends up a sticky sound of melting frost—

Spiders are abroad in dry grass—

A mourning cloak butterfly—

A songsparrow—

The roar of rapids—it holds me spellbound—though cease & yet is scattered to the far horizons where white flames of March fires are burning—

The white flames of March fires flicker lightning over the black wastes of winter—

The side of a hillside is warm like a grate fire—

Charles Burchfield, March 12, 1922