Charles Burchfield, Journals, January 7, 1916

In one of my imaginings today, I was making a trip thru the mountains enroute to the Pacific, and suddenly it came to my mind to imagine a thunderstorm in the mountains; at once I saw this.

It was raining a torrent; above the edge of a distant dark blue range of mountains, the sun was just setting; its light colored the rain so that the mountain was streaked with gold; this lasted even when the sun barely showed.  At the moment the sun disappeared, the gold streaks vanished, and a livid streak of lightning shot across the range, as if the mountain had split revealing the flood of golden sky beyond, in the crevice. 

A.M. for a walk.  In fields before Bentley’s at sunrise.  A filmy frost gives the earth a whitish look.  Already, it seemed like spring. From somewhere east, I imagined I caught the notes of a song sparrow. It was possible I did, but more improbable. But I felt the same sensation as if I had. Thoreau said that after Dec 21, every which was not wintry, was like spring.

Charles E. Burchfield, January 7, 1916