For the first day in months I felt like jumping up at seven.
Noon brings a hot dusty season – there is a barren whiteness about things – in the bleached out buildings, as well as the odd pieces of dry mud in the roads.
As I watched at noon the picturesque adolescence that a small town affords, I thought of bloodroot bristling in dark hollows – these odd caricatures youths seem to have little in common with bloodroot, unless it is their healthy glow of life. The most uncouth youth on a blue-sky day in March, thru the heat of his quickening blood, attains a sort of unaccustomed glory.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 15, 1921