Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, December 6, 1914

A cold day with occasional rain-flurries. A loose sky, and I have a feeling the wind is from the northeast, I do not know for sure; it is the kind of day that comes with a northeast wind, as if the wind blew directly from across Newfoundland.

To Symphony Concert.  It revives the poetry in me. Why need it be revived?  I am anxious for a ramble in the Bottoms - then let me steep myself in its poetry - no sight of hideous city. It alarms me I need constant reviving like this. To hear a Peterbird! Talk of exiles! There is the music.  Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony took me to a deep gorge full of glittering sun-spokes, on whose tops were nervous white-edged trees dancing!

As we came out the air was colder, the lights sparkled and snapped the wind pushed back the shoulders. I walked out of course.  Bob came with me.  A discussion of the War, that was tiring - not tiring in a strict sense, but while it was in pro­gress I did not feel the touch of the wind.

Evening spent in reading Edward Sheldon’s Romance.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, December 6, 1914