Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 4, 1915

The sun became a dull yellow glow—this is winter, a soft dissipated glow above a white landscape—the wisps were rain-bowed; the yellow glow turned crimson, was gone, the color lingered. The afterglow started in the south, a pink that abruptly roared into fiery salmon all over the green sky; the air was full of a pink storm —quickly it all fell away, all but the west where it hung above the purple horizon until darkness put out the color, as water fire.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 4, 1915