Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Saturday night we went for a walk to the edge of the village – it had been so long since we had see (sic) the starry sky that it was like a new experience – specifically the bowl-like appearance of the sky that was as a benediction – the rattling call of an owl –The locomotive – a tremendously dramatic thing – the roar, echoed back from hills on both sides was terrific – the (sic) was a feeling of tremendous power –; The quiet darkness of the street – desultory conversation of the group of town loafers. (back to guitar music mood); Sunday morning up at sunrise for walk – climb the big hill – I go back to the spring of 1915 mood – (Brandywine)The meadowlarks – crows flying down the valley –After breakfast with B – to Charcoal hills – raw logs laying on grounds–; The smell of charcoal – the Dead Swamp Stump Swamp – back to the Inn – the 1 o’clock feeling of eternity –after dinner – to hillside – the whispy (sic) sky – warm air – sunlight floods the village –; Late afternoon – home on train – the glympses (sic) of burning willows, & dark pine forests with beech trees patterned against them–