Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, Vol. 17, July 28, 1914

July 28, 1914
Morning showed that a change had come in the air.   Clouds were misty + low-hanging + obscured the sky.  Wind felt as tho it might have blown across a sun covered area of ice + slush.
Clouds soon part + take on a definite shape + scatter. Sky a deep blue.
Wind directly form the north.  When the wind is in the north, it brings with it a something fairylike.  It stirs the imagination more than any other wind.  We think we feel the touch of ice-dew in it.  It takes a north wind to clear the sky + our eyes of dust.  On such a day we feel that the Norsemen started out to sail the seas.  We see in our eye a blue sea, + sky white choppy waves with white clouds to match.
One feels like climbing a house-top and with trumpet, summon all people to come forth with the words “Come ye, come, one and all, and see what a miracle fro mankind has been wrought this morning.”  And they would come rushing forth expecting to see, perhaps, a tree with gold pieces for leaves, which would supply the world with gold, for such is the idea in most people’s souls, if such they can be called, of a miracle.  And the dreaming trumpeter would doubtless be locked in the madhouse.  The world is “chock” full of miracles every day, which fall like snowflakes in April, on a warm flagstones.  But is not this wind a miracle you say, such a wind coming so unexpectedly in the night, such a mighty cool wind that bends the trees?  Yes, comes the answer, but it doesn’t get you any money.

Charles E. Burchfield, Vol. 17, pgs. 15-17