Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, November 28, 1914

To Dutchman’s thru Haw Mead sketching. World white with thick feathery frost.  Away at sunrise - the slight breeze out the sun-blinded southeast was burdened with cool sparkles.

Peterbirds as approach white Haw Mead.  The snap of cold winter mornings is in their call.  Fortunately for my sketching they ceased soon.  Sketching in the swamp.  A herd of cattle here out­lined with white sunlight.  Cries of nuthatches from Beech Hill. Swamp ice-covered.  Sound of wind-loosened rain-frost pattering on the leaves.  Ice west of the Mound bears my weight precariously.  A carrion -rove beetle running nimbly over the ice.  Alder-berries – brilliant.

Moths fluttering in the starred cat-tails, covered with sun-haze.

Spider - strands.

To Creek-full and green.  Rove-beetles on its surface, A rustle breeze from south - Sky a deep blue - a songsparrow sings from the yellow willows upstream.  Noon sunlight streaming across the distant blue hazy wooded hills yellowed the grass edged stream.  Sound of train in distance.

Proceed north - pair of cardinals - quick flipping movements. Songsparrows sing constantly a feeling of early spring.

I have climbed Post’s Ridge scattering milkweed on the way up.  The view out over the Beaver Valley is fine - the misty valley full of thin golden sunlight.

The sunlight is almost level & the yellowed hills & white faced houses look towards the sun as if in yearning.

Post’s Woods to the south is dim with a thick haze wind born & blown. Glittering branches.

The leaven lie lightly on a hard ground. The melted surface of the ground is thin Cattle are yet in pasture.  Roads are dusty.

A Black & white creeper with whistling chip calls flies in spasmodic up & down course over fields to Posts.

Air full of spider strands

Dandelions numerous - almost stemless, as if the bud on reaching the air burst open for joy in the sunlight. Think of dandelions bursting in jagged yellow flames on the sunny hillsides on a hazy November day!

From in my mind was occupied with a rambling dream I had of editing an atheist magazine by which I should seek to further Truth in the world.  In it I would try to show that we are strong enough now, to proceed without the crutch (so-called by Beecher) Religion.

The town after the woods is prosaic.  As I look out of my window the scene seems lifeless.  Afield the air is pregnant with sparkling emotions. The sun is becoming a yellow glow in the misty sky.  Indian Summer Haze thickens in the trees.

At night a circle around moon adds weirdness to the night

Later has disappeared.

Charles E. Burchfield, Saturday Nov 28, 1914