Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, December 12, 1930

How can I get out of this slough? Everything I attempt is useless.– A bitterly raw, damp December day – Sketching out by the French Road Bridge – A raw wind sweeping out of the southwest driving loose indefinite low-hanging clouds before it – the fields below the bridge slope are rich dull ochres, Vandyke & sienna — to the northeast a few scrawny apple trees relieving the grassy waste – a half-dozen crows scattered in the trees — one stirs itself and with a hoarse cry flies to another tree, and all at once it came over me how much I loved today — all the dour qualities of the sky and earth, the raw wet wind driving a fine mist thru the air – the glistening road, and the black iron bridge — above all the black crows perching sullenly on the dark dead apple-trees — Once a monoplane flew North overhead, like a great gray phantom.

P.M. at twilight – for walk to Bridge again — pauses to make additional studies — the huge pyramidal embankment supporting the bridge-end fascinated me. While I was drawing, a light came from behind growing rapidly brighter – I turned – a locomotive pulling a train of freight cars was gliding almost noiselessly on the track by which I was standing – In the half-light, with its spurting steam & smoke, it had a marvelously fearful appearance— Shortly after a second came along.

Charles E. Burchfield, December 12, 1930