Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967), Maytime in the Woods, 1948-61; watercolor on paper, 40 x 33 inches; Image from the Burchfield Penney Art Center Archives
All Maytime to me is a symbol of this event—Nature has just been reborn, and all the trees stand tremulous in their new emerald leaves as if it happened overnight. I walk along boldly in overwhelming happiness.
To Hamburg this morning to look for iris. I followed the same route Bertha & I took on this day last year. The whole earth has been transformed for me—I do not really behold distinct objects—It is like when I used to write in my diary of nature as it appeared to me when I would come home from school in the summer—my heart was always too full to see things clearly. So it is now—I am only vaguely conscious of windblown grass blades glittering with blue lights, rich yellow dandelions & buttercups gleaming in the hot sun; the whiteness of dry plowed fields. Men & horses plowing in the middle distance obscured by quivering heatwaves—in the distance to the south, the blue hazed hills; new poplars glittering with a million stars, dandelions at the base of the tree—the songs of the bobolinks—the rank smell of vegetation cooking in the sunlight—all these I am only vaguely conscious of; as I close my eyes I see there the image of Bertha & the baby—it is not long until I can no longer [endure] being away from them—I hasten to town, & find I must wait 40 min for a car—I get to a hotel & eat to keep my mind occupied —I am feverish all the way until I am safely seated by the bedside.
Charles Burchfield, May 30, 1923