A cold east-wind day. Poplars tip westward, which seems awry, as usually they bend east. Clouds breaking—their bottom sides are a dark cold blue-purple. Rifts are sun-frilled.
Heard wind blowing thru the trees last night—the first for a long time. My mind must have been preoccupied to a great extent.
Small boys live in a world all their own. They know nothing of love, learning, religion, or philosophy. Theirs is the joy of living.
Charles E. Burchfield, September 12, 1914