Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, October 3, 1914

Awake at sunrise - my dimmed memory of it is pink streaks.

Up at 8:00. To Doan-Brook Dam to sketch.  A dense white ­haze morning; sun but a glow. Yellowing trees.

Wind-blown ripple-stars chopping the surface of Wade Park pond.

Great willows here.

Crow-caws.

Chicadees numerous.

Flock of sparrows splashing in the stream’s edge.                                                          

I cannot work where there is the sound of falling water. It takes my thoughts away far into unheard of spaces.

Only at long intervals do I actually hear the splattering of the water. When so, I cannot recall what I was thinking.

Dandelions.  I often think the dandelion is the most beautiful flower there is.  It is by far the most satisfying. Spring itself has not the fairyness + dreaminess of this morning.

P.M. Downtown. Woman’s suffrage day. Big parade.  A fine sight.  In a short time, what has actually existed for a long time (equality) will be admitted by men and granted.

A dense hazy afternoon.

Tall buildings blending by blue into sky.

Night – moon hazy - a large white ring.
I am another person now. 

Already the things I have written in these books do not seem a vital part of me; the experiences of the summer just came but a dream from which I have waked, startled.

Charles E. Burchfield, Oct 3, 1914