Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

                                                      Aug. 12, 1913

 Yesterday gray clouds kept steadily gathering all evening and the night rain began to come down, at first only a few drops and then a calm steady downpour.  It was raining early this morning but it had ceased when I started to work.  The air was damp and misty, trees in the distance were a dim misty whitish green.  The fairy fog harmonized all things and cast a spell over them.  Smoke and steam from the factories melted into the somber sky ever receding and reappearing; as the morning wore on the sun made repeated efforts to break away the foggy obstructions, showing as a dim soft glow.  It was not until late afternoon that it came clear out and then only at short intervals. Clouds became dapples but seemed in no hurry to move along.  The dreamy melancholy day slowly