Charles Burchfield, Journals, March 30, 1916

The day advances without my knowing it. It is morning, noon, afternoon, evening, & yet I dream on. I am aware of the changes only thru the birds—The hawk’s harsh cry from a marsh reminds me it is noon; There is no afternoon; when the sun reaches the western sky, the feeling is of a romantic evening—a bluebird in soft fluttering flight along a sun-glittered rail fence—it is evening—A redwing singing almost furiously from a marshy site—the sun is almost at the horizon, —meadowlarks calling from swamp grass—this is the meadowlark’s song; —the orange sunlit swamp grass around the edge of a small pond—A toad or two send up their trill—waterbugs are out—all things become romantic in the orange sunlight—A still cold wind blows out of the North—I walk thru the swamp pasture &I sink deep in the turf; the water bubbling around my shoes—

Charles Burchfield, March 30, 1916