Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 27, 1914

Day was spent afield and in the woods sketching. With watercolors and pad, in a basket, together with a lunch and a note-book I proceeded forth long after the sun had been up, morning was yet young and the stiff breeze still had left some of that cool freshness borrowed perhaps from the night, and which is strong about the time of the first light.

First halt was called at the Tree where I arranged myself and paraphernalia on some rocks to sketch the Three Trees. As I sat I seemed to become a part of the wind-blown grass and to be carried along in space. As I painted, a bobolink displayed him¬self from time to time above a sorrel-reddened meadow between me and the Trees. Of all bird’s songs I have ever heard I think his is rendered in the most delightful manner. Inspired to warble, he flies up into the air a short distance and then with wings bowed sharply downward he lets himself fall in the wind. Almost simultaneous with his descent but coming just a trifle later comes his song which is announced by a short sharp chirp. And than his song bubbles from him, pours from him, breaks from him and is caught by the wind and scattered far and wide over the meadow. The bobolink is synonymous with wind flattened meadows of sheep sorrel, dandelion seed-heads, and timothy hay and - I might add - sky smeared with wind racked clouds and vapors.