Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

One child after another demands attention – a mosquito bite needs cooling salve, another must go to the bathroom – another’s nose needs wiping
I lie in bed after each service tired – hot – remorseful – outside a faint flicker of lightning in the south—
At first light sleep is born out of utter exhaustion.
Later a hot sullen thunderstorm – I go in to my beloved and all is well – oh the sweet contentment of the embrace of complete understanding reconciliation.

Aug 31, 1929—

I go forth one day & come back brimming full – and another day I return empty handed, dejected & morose; there is no regulating the thing.
Wednesday, compelled by my barber’s story of burning muckland at Cherry Creek, I journeyed thither in hopes of a sketch or two.
Alighting from train all seems quiet – no sign of smoke. Disappointed I start over the hills north westward; chance to look over the flat valley to the south east & see vast white area of blue-white smoke beyond a woods. I make my way there thru tawny fields, dried marshlands, & by way of the railroads.
The fires were in quite a ways – a wide desolate area—