Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, June 29, 1945

In bed, —the lightning increases in brilliance, almost continuous—the wind rises, the poplar tree outside my window, a writhing tortured black many fingered mass, with wild lightning curling around it—(trees—crazy black trees shapes, outlines with phosphorescent yellow and emerald, against the wind white)—

I felt all the thrill of 1915.

Charles Burchfield, June 29, 1945