Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Aug. 25 (Mon.); Samples in the mail of raw wood moldings from Gen. Pic. Fr. Co.; To lumber mill to order molding & lumber.; In studio most of day—studying pictures, making plans for new things—I feel I must stop on frames and do some painting.; P.M. a storm passes to the north, probably over Ontario—the deep rumbling of thunder, while all is hot and bright here—I suddenly remembered the acid smell of ferns, as if that would be growing in some hot humid woodland glade by the Little Beaver. A storm coming up in the west—a cat-birds lament from some willow crowned by a virgins flower, and from the woods, the sad call of a peewee.; Mart down to start making a dress for B—from material she had bought, very pretty—; ; ; ; ; __________________; On two occasions recently my clock has stopped in the middle of the night. I would wake up and hear the clock steadily ticking—suddenly without warning it would stop—it had an ominous character all out of proportion to the fact. After all, I had simply forgotten to wind it. A heart could stop beating like that.