Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, March 31, 1943

Mar. 31, (Wed) –

I had intended driving to the Zoar Valley today, after stopping off at the Chestnut Ridge Park ravine for a few studies. Once I was in the ravine however, I decided to spend the whole day there.

It was a clear, brisk day, a few scattered clouds, and with a sharp tang to the air. I spent the whole day tramping up and down the main ravine, making studies, and saturating myself with the “feel” of the banks, and the rushing water. Yesterday’s rain had converted the usually quiet little brooklet into a very gay rushing torrent. So completely did the personality of the stream enter into my consciousness, that at night when I lay down to sleep, my pillow seemed to be full of the sound, and closing my eyes, I saw endless frothy cataracts, and little waterfalls, that came from an infinity above, and vanished downwards, thru a succession of ravines, that likewise extended to another, and lower infinity. In retrospection, the banks became steeper, the downward progressions more abrupt, and dangerous; as I lay in bed, growing drowsier, my whole being seemed submerged in this noisy headlong torrent, until I too was rushing downwards, a part of it.

When I ascended to the “upper world” to eat my lunch, a strong warm current of air with a strong heady odor as of hepaticas, rushed toward me, and a glare of light from the brilliant sky enfolded me. I parked my car at a point where I could look out of the vast lowland to the northwest, where lay Buffalo, and the lake (the latter was visible only by a glare of light from its surface, that penetrated the mists.

A bluebird, its heavenly color revealed against the purple brown bushes.

Afternoon —the silver cobwebby glare of light on hemlock sprays — the golden glare of light, on tree branches, throws the shadowed hemlock-enclosed ravine into deep purple black shadow. Once I stood with my back to the sun, and looked at the sun filled woods — directly opposite the sun, near the horizon was a concentration of light, brilliant, glowing, and cerulean-emerald in color — above the sky was a deep cobalt — a black crow flaps ponderously across it —

Eventually, the sun declined so low, that the spirit of the hollow vanished; I suddenly was tired, and worked out. Not so much so, however, that I could not pause a moment, and glory in the various kinds of birds on the trees, now swelling.

Charles Burchfield, March 31, 1943