Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Aug. 6, 1913

This morning as usual I woke a few moments before I had to get up. As I lay I became suddenly conscious of a dull buzzing roar that came from the direction of the factories. I have never been quite able to decide just what source this sound proceeds from. It is distinctly an autumn sound - a sign of approaching fall. Perhaps it is the blending of many sounds - the rattle of wagons over brick pavements - the sound of workmen in the shops - or the roar of a train somewhere. As I got up I took a peep outdoors. The sky was thickly mottled with dead grey clouds. Starting out to work I just had time to look at the morning glories. I always do this even at the risk of being late. They are a beautiful sight. Practically the whole back of the house is covered with them for a distance of about twelve feet from the ground. Every morning they are a mass of color - tho now they are getting smaller on account of the prolonged drought. Such rich