All is awry with me. The beauty I saw while at home this summer, beauty that seemed perpetual does not come now. I entertain cheaper thoughts. The city is nothing but imitation + hypocrisy .
I must up + away from this. I must regain my lost ground. It is but a little slip, but I must take firmer step lest I tumble.
The dry season continues. There are no vivid colors. Nature is drying a dead yellow. Moon clear.
Charles E. Burchfield, October 5, 1914.