Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, November 10, 1924

            It has been a long warm mellow Fall. Even in the season-less city, autumn has invaded, and left its traces in heavy blue Indian Summer haze and smoking bon-fires.
            On my walks to & from work I often think of the old Salem days, with something of regret for the lost bottom-lands of the Little Beaver. I miss the rattling swamp at sunset time when the birds are calling cozily, twittering as if in lazy conversations. But I have daily reminders of these things. My little babies sound like little birds & often make me think of the swamp noises—Mary Alice with little songs & jabberings & Martha with her cooings & rasping calls for attention.

--Charles E. Burchfield, November 10, 1924