Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Jan.31 1922 –; A Springlike day –; There is the inexpressible haunting feeling in today that belongs to Spring; the soul is torn between sweet reverie & unknown desires – the wanderlust is born on such days –; What romance in the boom of trucks & other traffic as we sit indoors – we never knew till now the poetry that existed in the rattle of a stree-cars (sic), or a carpenter’s hammer – The streets are glistening with slush & water and the tall ungainly buildings look at themselves in the street below – yellow red & blue trucks delight the eye – garish bill-boards once ugly, are now glorified – Some windows boast of bright colored flowers – The air is electrified with the chill of a breeze from some dark ice bound pine hollow –; Walk up to Porter St and the lake at night in a gale – The old intoxeation (sic) of throwing out of one’s chest & braving the storm – I have not felt it for many a long time.; Hearing Miss Gray play music on the pianola – I realized that I hear music in a new way – it appealed directly to my physical emotions & felt like a benediction.