Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

his wife, the new mother giving life to their baby. How the baby clutches its hands in blissful content.All Maytime (sic) is to me a symbol of this event – nature has just been reborn, and all the trees stand tremulous in their new emerald leaves as if it happened overnight. I walk along boldly in overwhelming happiness. ; To Hamburg this morning to look for iris. I followed the same route Bertha & I took on this day last year. The whole earth has been transformed for me – I donot (sic) really behold distinct objects – it is like when I used to write in my diary of nature as it appeared to me when I would come home from school in the summer – my heart was always too full to see things clearly. So it is now – I am only vaguely conscious of windblown grass blades glittering with blue lights, rich yellow dandelions & buttercups gleaming in the hot sun; the whiteness of dry plowed fields. Men & horses plowing in the middle distance to the south, the blue hazed hills; new poplars glittering with a million stars, dandelions at the base of the tree the songs of bobolinks – the rank smell of vegetation cooking in the sunlight – all these I am only vaguely