Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 12, 1964

Rain — cool wind from the N.E.

I held a barn-swallow in the palm of my hand — what a thrill! It had been hit by a car, and lay struggling feebly on the road. It struggled some more when I picked it up, but then lay still on its back, feet down into its belly, eyes full of fear.

What a delicate, beautiful creature, so trim and perfectly shaped for its life of skimming over meadows in pursuit of insects — all buffs, yellows and tawny tones on its underside, navy blue and sooty black on its whole top side.

What to do with it? But before I had time to pursue this dilemma, it began to struggle again and fluttered to the ground — I picked it up, set it right side up on my hand, and all at once it took wing and sailed out over the meadow —

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 12, 1964