I noticed the brilliant yellow sunlight at noon – following a clear morning – A solitary katydid at times, while at noon the cicadas charm me.
This is the second night that the cricket chorus has pulsated. It stirs up in me longings that are insatiable for they are [inexpressible]. I despise my life. My contact with others only fills me with repulsion. My art is the only redeeming feature of myself. If I can bury myself completely in it, I will have attained some peace of mind.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, August 10, 1915