Charles Burchfield, Journals, December 28, 1923

On way to work. A great swooping wind out of the southwest. The tree tops roar against the cold gray sky; the clouds spit down a few wild flakes of snow now and then. Trees look blackly at the ground and the peaks and corners of the bleak houses are razor-sharp. I walk along exultantly with my chest out. All things are possible now. I felt like throwing a gauntlet into the face of the whole world; let me, like a winter wind sweep all of the debris of the centuries away, I – alone – unaided!

Charles Burchfield, December 28, 1923