Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, November 30, 1919

As I go out into the terrific gale, I notice the intense cheerful warmth of red bricks, and yellow wood, they glow more than on sunshiny days -

Here in this deep pine hollow where no wind ever comes; where the terrific gale in the outside is but the vague rumour [sic] of roaring tree tops, indistinct because of the roar of waterfalls & the busy crackle of my fire – here there is always the peace of the silent expectancy, eternal brooding – the snowflakes that outside were level streaks of white across the trees here flutter idly down like the toy snow of a child’s glass globe. The solemn gloom of this pine woods has a religious aspect.

My fire has driven the spiders from the rocky ledge above -

A white beech with its pale, ochre leaves, trembles at the passing of the stray breeze; against the dark green pines it stands; the fluttering flakes of snow mingle with the dancing leaves –

The wild sweeps of wind over the bare hills! Great hatches of rich cobalt sky –

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, November 30, 1919