Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

73. and tie them in little bouquets. I pick pink hyacinth & daffodils, and arrange them with the violets in the center. Then leave the rest to the children to carry out.

     When I check up in the studio, I find as I had suspected in at the harbor that it was the building and not the tower that was wrong – I indicated the changes and now it seems right – now at last I am ready to continue with the painting, left two years ago – I both dread and anticipate this largest task I have attempted.

     I dreamt quite a lot last night. Most of it is vague, but one thing remains – someone said to me “you ought to go back to those old interpretations of nature moods again” and at once I was standing on a street, near the edge of a strange town; it was raining, late Summer, and the reflections in the wet side-walk of a group of maples, seemed inexpressably [sic] beautiful and filled me with a yearning sadness, as if it were something irrevocably gone.

     I was re-reading my Sunday entry and there seemed something magical about the simple remark “we went east on Clinton beyond Marilla Rd”-