Charles 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 shapes, outlined with phosphorescent yellow and emerald, against the vivid white) —

I felt all the thrill of 1915.

Charles Burchfield, June 29, 1945