Charles Burchfield, Journals, September 12, 1942

…But it was not until late afternoon, when I sat down under a willow tree, that the cloud of depression which was hovered over me for a couple of weeks, suddenly lifted, and the world seemed too beautiful to endure. Clouds were gathering in the west, at first long dappled masses, thru which the sun still managed to send its rays—but they increased rapidly, and soon the sun was gone, and the sky took on a grimmer note—Bengert’s ash tree, standing trembling, was inky black within, while glossy outer leaf masses were eerily lit up with an iron-gray light above—The clouds increased and took on a colder bluer tone, and at times, tentative spatters of ran fell, and ceased, and began again. A vibrant whirring from behind and above the shed announced the flight of blackbirds, probably assembling for the Autumnal flight south—The west was streaked with distant falling rain; and I thought of the birds flying towards it, and wondered how it would feel to them to suddenly fly into a shower—and I thought of their long flight south, and dreamed as I did as a boy, that it would be fun to be one of them, and set out on the long journey over the wide September fields and valleys, and how cozy it would be to be one of the great flock of one’s comrades.

Charles Burchfield, September 12, 1942