Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

115. valley.  It seemed tremendously vast & wide; the snow had a peculiar yellow light on it, the woods on the far hills was smoky violet in color, and the sky was a mud gray, misty & looming forward.

                        March 2, 1936-                 

A.M. Soggy wet snow from west – the peculiar color of the bakery – an ochre greened with indigo or prussian (sic) blue, a rich wet darkness.

     P.M. Walk north along R.R. – sunshine & loose clouds, growing colder –

     How good the earth, revealed now after months of snow – how exciting bits of things in the dirt – cherry pits, walnut halves, broken glass etc –

     Walking by string of cars, with shaggy grassy hummocks on other side of me.  The sight of the grassy turf, old golden-rod heads against the sky – a flash of sunlight over the ochre grass, a train whistle abruptly interjects itself – and suddenly the moment becomes too poignant to endure.  Vague memories arise to saturate the mood, and pain & pleasure are mingled to an agonizing degree.