Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

69. I soon had my easel set up and started painting. There followed then on of those rare "seasons" when I am at peace; when I feel surrounded by the presence of God. (How too rare they are - and all my own fault) - In spite of the physical discomforts: (the heat was terrific, the suns rays coming back up from the rank earth, with the sickening odor of new plants; the sweat poured off me; stinging flies pestered me, and I got badly stung on both hands and chin) - in spite of all this my heart sang for joy, and I had to stop once in awhile to give thanks to God for the divine moment.

     Two youths, who had driven up in a car, came hunting frogs in the pond (and they were plentiful, for every little while they would set up a terrific racket) - They had a rifle, and were pretty good at shooting them. They soon saw me, and came up to look - They thought it was perfect.

     From time to time planes flew overhead - several transports, and once a swift flying army pane, which was hard to see because it flew so high, and was so far ahead of its sound.

     Afterwards I lay in the grass awhile, drinking in all the sights and sounds, and other sensations. After I had carried all my "trunk" to the car, I lay under the tree awhile for more contemplation. Then growing restless, I took a little walk around thru the fields, and skirting a woods (sic). My happy mood was still on me; I walked along free, and strong; and I thought of Bertha and wished she were with me; and I glowed in the knowledge that after twenty years, I was just as much in love with her as at first,