Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

I should begin to read it. His style is of a rollicking sort - as of the galloping of horses or the capers of sheep at play. His very descriptions are alive and awake and compelling - they are an adventure in themselves. One sentence flows gayly on into another with such an ease of motion and so devoid of any jars that it seems to me that even those senseless folk who indulge in “skipping” (an inane habit at that) must perforce read every word. His characters are inimitable - all of them overflowing with originality, and the most of them very human.

Sultriness, thunder-clouds, thunder falling leaves and a rosy sunset were in nature’s melting pot today. And the fairy vapors that arose from the melting thereof was most pleasing. Perhaps they are the cause of the blueness in the air? Whimsical thought but who knows?

     This morning I resolved to take note