Charles Burchfield, Journals,May 4, 1949

A beautiful woods by a cemetery made me stop. A fine spot. The sound of a waterfall attracted me….

I set out to explore the woods. Mostly maples, and all the underbrush cleaned out. A beautiful place, hosts of trilliums and white violets, & a few squirrel corn. The feeling of a coming into a North woods at twilight. It recalled some vague elusive memory of my boyhood; or was it a dream or a pre-natal memory even? I wish I could grasp the feeling better. A stream thru the woods; as it turned northward, a troop of trilliums running down a bank; the woods to the north with its lynx-like openings; twilight—the unknown; did I experience it, or is it the result of a lifelong desire for a dreamwoods? It seemed as if it could be a magic woods; as if crossing a certain invisible line, I would be in a land of enchantment , where would be growing in profusion all the flowers I love, mysterious glades, and dark caves with ice stull inside. Once in this land of enchantment, I would forever a boy, enjoying only boyish delights.

When I emerged from the woods, the half-moon at the zenith was already glowing brightly. I now noticed that the stones in the cemetery on the knoll were all exactly alike, and in precise rows—I thought perhaps it was s soldier’s graveyard and went up to look. The only inscription on the stones were numbers, and I was puzzled. Gradually then, it dawned on me that prisoners from the Attica State Prison were buried here. The whole aspect of the place changed swiftly. It seemed horrible and sinister that men were buried here, and were only designated by impersonal numbers. The cold moon high above, sending down a wan light on the stones only seemed to make it more lonely and forsaken. I left the spot, greatly disturbed.

Charles Burchfield, May 4, 1949