Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

June 23, 1929—

Yesterday the summer Solstice but for several days before and after it always seems like the actual day.
Hot, humid weather – a feeling of the perpetual steaming days of half rain & sunlight _ rank vegetation that are supposed to be  characteristic of the early days of this planet – I feel strongly the glory and power of a full-blooded life
(a huge yellow butterfly just lit on some purple canterbury bells in the yard next door )
I sit here by the windows of my little attic, almost too full of happiness to write about it – a warm moist breeze comes in at times, bringing with it a multitude of sounds – the various noises of the roundhouse a mile away – bells a sharp whistle escaping steam – a steamboat from the Buffalo Harbor booms deeply blackbirds calls – a short while ago the air was full of white blinding rain, – the earth now stands hushed – stagnant plants drooping – the earth reeking—
I think of my new son – my first boy – only three weeks old – it seems incredible he is a boy – it is just a baby—
The day he was born – when I went east along the road to get