Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

51. that this woods would still have the same beauty or romance that it had for me as a boy; but it did – perhaps more as – the ravine, beginning as a leaf filled (sic) crease in the earth, seemed especially beautiful. It was late in the day, already twilight was stealing among the trees, the ravine to the east has dark & shadowy, like things are in a dream. The “dump” was still there, filling more of the hollow, and as always burning. I seemed to draw closer to my children somehow, our childhoods met and were merged, we had been children together. An accumulation of probably several years’ leaves on one bank invited us to play and we plunged into them hilariously.

     In the morning, Bertha with Catherine and Arthur drove me to the end of High St, where I left to walk out to the farm, by way of Bentley’s & Farquhar’s – a sentimental journey but a fine experience. Somethings were changed, somethings gone, but others the same as old. The diagonal path across the field in front of Bentley’s – how short it seemed - - The old wooden trough was still there, but at this season, no black & white dragon–flies (sic). The writhing beech over the spring was gone, but the stone wall of the spring was covered with a curling leafy mass- like plant something I had forgotten – The lowest grove like a