Eighteen years ago, a calamity befell this family—a squalling calamity—eighteen years ago on a Sunday, I was born—at six o'clock in the evening. Being born on a Sunday accounts for the purity of my soul.....
Everything conspired to make it a day after my own heart. This morning I awoke early, and looked out. It was a wonderful scene. Everything—ground, arbor, trees, fences, and wires,—were all covered heavily with pure white snow that glittered in the light of the rising sun.
Charles Burchfield, on his 18th birthday, April 9, 1911