Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 to get seats.

Feb. 7, 1943 – 

A blizzard all day – the snow wet and clinging to every-thing it touched.

Feb. 8, 1943 – 

A dream:

Walking along a high flat table land, which seemed to be northeast of Salem, Ohio, yet vaster, and different. It was night when I started, just before dawn. It seemed that Bertha was along, but invisible. As I went along, the night began to fade, and the first light that dimmed the stars over head [sic], lit up the dewy grass underfoot with a ghostly cobwebby glow. It seemed wonderfully good to be there; the air was not chilly, but delightfully moist and cool.

Presently we came to where the land dipped down to a wide valley – just below us was a farm, with enormous barns and many other buildings. “See”, I said to Bertha (who was still invisible) “do you wonder that I am fond of this place” for I thought I had been here before. At this point even her “presence” left the dream.

As I started down the sloping field toward the farm, I saw the farmer looking up at me, and I waved to him. It was getting brighter now, and I thought he was about his morning chores. “I suppose” I said to myself “they will insist on