Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, September 29, 1914

Thin cricket chorus. Sounds like a ball in a whistle. Steady. Watch my watery poplars thru the morning. How wonderful & beautiful they are that they pass unnoticed.

The poplars at Vine St. are more wonderful than at any time yet. The foliage being thinned, the sun has access to every waxen leaf. Think of every leaf on a tree turning to stars!  A shower of sun-crystal dew clattering thru the webby branches! - in inland ice-water lake sparkled with wind-flipped sunshine! - Reflections of silvery rippled rill running like fire over transparent jewelweed leaves!  I am glad that I love simple beauty like this.  It leads your willing imagination endlessly thru wonderful fairy lands!

A dense blue haze.  Long streamers of sun-inflated haze threading the air like spider silk. The air is warm and cool around the edge as if every breath we took was coated with coolth. Droughten sunset - dense plum haze - bloody-smeared sun. As I observe the sun setting each time, I feel as if I had never fully appreciated its beauty.

A moon-storm night. The moonlight dissolving the sky seems as finely sifting snow on a blizzardy winter night.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, September 29, 1914