Charles Burchfield, Journals, June 11, 1922

To be inside of a building shut in from the outdoors, sometimes, only makes the outdoors more vivid.

Here in the church the sights and sounds from the outdoors that leaked in only made the morning more vivid thu the way it “stung” my imagination—one window to the north was half open, thru which I could see (and hear) the wind-“shattered” mass of maple leaves—the ripples over it were cold, and the depths dark green—the whole outdoors became a vast area of dark masses of maple trees and black cavities—thunder commenced to book from a distance and brought to the mind’s eye a blue black sky with the whitened tops of wind-turned trees against it—the dashing of rain; and then just outside of a partly open window to the south, a leak in the spout sent down a noisy clatter of water—the sun suddenly came out and struck squarely on this window producing sudden yellow glare in the church—the hurrying clouds turned on and off in rapid succession of flashes—

Charles Burchfield, June 11, 1922