Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 20, 1915

A Spring day. The sky is streaked with vague blue and white; the sunlight dims; the streets are dusty; the air is warm, almost motionless, yet there is a pleasant subtle coolness. P.M. Walk-thru Gordon Park to Lake with E -. There is the smell of earth in the air. I feel as if I must find a Hypatica somewhere.

Lake beautiful - a wonderful luminous green in long stretching streaks uniting with the slate blue sky - a symphonic Poem of color against which play yellow-twigged willows, red bushes, and green cottonwoods. A wind from N.E. ruffled the lake slightly, and as we walked along, white caps commenced to appear, appearing and disappearing like fireflies in night woods in July. There was such a freshness of “look” about it that I desired to jump naked in its waves. Unfortunately, the lakefront here is owned by privacy-loving millionaires, so we must keep much to the boulevard. At one place, E - turned aside to look into a greenhouse. I did, too but was sorry as I saw violets in full bloom. It hurt as much as the first time I saw and heard a robin in January. Immediately after, we were delighted to see a lawn dotted with snowdrops. I could scarce realize it was true. This is our “Indian Spring,” and it will be hard to return to winter again.