Charles Burchfield, Journals, October 2, 1914

Awake at sunrise.  Hazy morning.  A fog. A grackle’s - peculiar liquid lisping call from time to time.

A dreamy opaque bluish day.  Sunlight dimmed. Glows in a whitish sky.  It is morning all day.

Wilcox is a fine fellow - I feel safe in talking with him.  He is strong.

The city has no season but winter + summer apparently at night.

My impression of today is blue trunked trees, fading by their sun-saturated foliage into the sky.

Walk to work and back again.  Approaching 105th St, from the west, we see but a starry conglomeration of brilliant glowing lights.

No rainbow around the moon, as last night.

Wilcox had a list of sketches he had sent from Europe,that have been lost or delayed. To make sure of them he was redrawing them from memory. To describe to me the rhythm of a sketch he was making (three musicians, a violinist, a man with an accordion, and a singing man - with three around a table playing cards) he said that it rippled down the nearest man’s leg.

Charles E. Burchfield, Oct. 2, 1914