Charles Burchfield, Journals, December 26, 1923

It is still night—with just a faint glow over the east back of the harsh black buildings—over in the West the moon still shining brilliantly—I walk out. It is cold, but the air fine and elastic—I am filled with a glowing warmth—In the east there is a flat bank of blue gray clouds—a memory of the night fleets—the underside of which low down is tinged with red—in the west the bright silver moon. I think of some nomadic adventure, when I in company with others have been traveling all night, and we come along some mountain ridge at such a time as this, a harbor or camping place in sight—

Charles Burchfield, December 26, 1923