Walking over the rank new grass, the air filled with the rank odors of “Stemming Vegetation” and countless varieties of pollen and flower scent. I am reminded, with a pang, of coming home in the afternoon, from school, on such a day, and begging my mother to let me go barefoot. On many occasions she had (wisely, but not to my thinking) withheld her permission—but on this day at long last, she would give a half-hearted consent—
I could hardly get my high topped shoes and long black stockings off quick enough, and then, the delicious, incredible sensation of raw tender feet sinking in the lush cool grass! Sometimes I almost feel that I would trade some of the pleasures of maturity, to experience that just once again.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 23, 1947