Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 9, 1915

A blue-skied calm day— White morning— such a morning which calls to mind phoebe birds— as I remember one summer night spent in the woods when at three o’clock, a million phoebes commenced to call at once.  It is one of the morning[s] that will live with me all my life—

Evening to Three trees to sketch— Sun a soft white glow in a wonderful wispy sky— from across illimitable spaces comes the call of a mourning dove— the air is calm, almost stagnant— there seem to be memories on all sides of long-forgotten things—

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 9, 1915