Charles Burchfield, Journals, January 14, 1930

January moonlit night—it has been thawing and raining for several days—the creek is full to its banks—rushing headlong—I take Mary Alice by the hand and we go to look at the water—It is sweet to lead a trusting child thus—a fog fills the air—the land to the east of the stream is lost in whiteness—so that under the misty moon the water seems to come from a vast lake—On the west side of the bridge—The water is roaring tumultuously—I tell M.A. it is angry—The water rushes swiftly from the deep gloom of the bridge arches—the tops of the rapids catch a faint light from the lamps—M.A. remarks that watching it makes it seem as if we are moving too—then she tells how in school when she watches smoke going by it makes it seem as if the room were moving. —Later—B—& I out to see the creek—the fog has cleared—a light wind sprung up—We watch the moon’s reflections on the rapids. —a mystery about it almost frightening—a phosphorescent star will appear suddenly and, changing to a silver ribbon, seem to curl its way down the creek—A sudden joy overwhelms me—a completeness of life wraps us in.

Charles Burchfield, January 14, 1930