Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 30, 1939

Blizzard from the Northeast.  Snow fine, and like heavy sand.  Much had fallen in the night, and all day it kept coming down, driven by a strong wind. 

In the late afternoon, as twilight was closing in, a large flock of crows, spread out in a long scattered formation, came out of the south, heading due north.  They passed directly over our house.  They had great difficulty making headway against the wind, sometimes hanging motionless, or even allowing themselves to be swept backwards.  Scattered as they were, and flying in complete independence of each other, and in such varied positions, they seemed like great black leaves falling from the sky.  So black were they, in spite of the haze caused by the snow, that the space immediately around them seemed luminous and much lighter than it really was, the effect being like the alternate flashing of black & white.  They flew in profound silence which added an eerie quality to the event. 

Gradually they pressed on to the illimitable northern sky, and were swallowed up in the gray void.  The struggle of these harsh creatures against the harsher elements of the storm, impressed me as being unutterably bleak and sinister. 

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 30, 1939