Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

had taken up winter quarters, and elephants were lazily eating hay in the yard surrounding it. For an instant I saw all these things as a young boy sees them, but so brief was this moment of revelation of the past, that even now I cannot recapture the mood, much less, describe it.; The street now gradually took on the feeling and aspect of an enormous barn – the arching tree-limbs overhead turned to old tobacco barn rafters, feathery with dusty cobwebs. At one point, a man had a cow partway up the ladder and was trying to milk it; the cow, overtaken by the needs of nature, was emptying her bowells [sic] all over the man’s legs and boots. It seems that he was an immigrant, unused to the ways of cows or any other farm animals, and the unfortunate man kept exclaiming “what is she doing – what is she doing – what does it mean –“ much to my amusement.; I awoke at his point, still laughing Dec. 7, 1942 – (Mon.); Lying in bed, with the grippe since last Tuesday. This morning great irregular shaped compact clouds played tag with the sun, now blotting it out, and again letting it peek thru irregular shaped openings in blinding flashes of light. Altho [sic] it is not a stormy day, the effect of the sun and clouds reminded me of a year ago, (Dec. 6) when I made a painting