Charles Burchfield, Journals, March 31, 1943

It was a clear brisk day, a few scattered clouds with a sharp tang to the air. I spent the whole day tramping up and down the main ravine, making studies, and saturating myself with the “feel” of the banks, and the rushing water. Yesterday’s rain had had converted the usually quiet little brooklet into a very gay rushing torrent. So completely did the personality of the stream enter into my consciousness, that at night when I lay down to sleep, my pillow seemed to be full of sound, and closing my eyes, I saw endless frothy cataracts, and little waterfalls, that came from an infinity above, and vanished downwards, thru a succession of ravines that likewise extended to another, and lower infinity. In retrospect, the banks become steeper, the downward progressions more abrupt, and dangerous, as I lay in bed, growing drowsier, my whole being seemed submerged in this noisy headlong torrent, until I too was rushing downwards, a part of it.

Charles Burchfield, March 31, 1943