Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, September 1, 1917

I found this evening dangling on the end of grass frond, a curled morning glory flower, which in drying had fastened a tiny grey feather to the grass stem. How did this happen? The flower fell thru the slanting rays of a late August morning sun, a bird flew by and dropped a feather; rain dashed off the dead flower from its stem, and a rain soaked bird preening itself on a wire, let fall a feather– a bird seeking a worm on the leaves, brushed the vine, detaching a feather jarring loose the flower, shriveled by the hot sun – my most vagrant imaginings can’t approach the poetry of the sight of this queer occurrence.

Charles E. Burchfield, September 1, 1917