Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

It seems that this is an afternoon rite of the social world that must be kept religiously. Noone seems to notice me, tho I am conscious of my long trousers & coat-lessness. The maid comes & leads me back into to the house—
I awake gradually and in a sweat – am I going mad? I thought – outside the maple tree with the street-light behind it has an evil look – I long to in to my wife and touch her to dispel my agony, but I know she is tired – outside the roar of an airplane motor becomes louder & louder & then dies away – the milkman pounds the steps with his bottles – I come back to reality.

Aug 23, 1929

Drowsy August Night—
I lie on my bed speechless – A soft warm breeze comes out of the vast misty south—
Misty August night – the breeze grows stronger & caresses me – directly south is the waning moon, hanging mysterious—
I cannot sleep – I have spoken harsh unsympathetic words to my wife when she was crying in the agony of boredom—
The night is beautiful, mysterious, and the breeze is soft, but I know no peace – what can I do? I have asked her forgiveness before she went to sleep – but it was too soon to overcome her just bittnerness at my unfeeling scolding.