Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

tails; on the other side was extended far and wide a broad flat wheat-field.  Presently the road became steeper and was closed in on the north by a grove of tall trees.  On the south was a rail fence over which I crossed into the slanting field beyond.  Everywhere were piles of brush, fallen logs and dead branches.  Every little ways a sulphur stream trickled its way down the steep hill. Far below lay the country I had just come out of.  It was an odd mysterious scene – this March scene.  The low level plains just below, and the hills in the distance, with trees and houses, were all dimmed by the vapors that were arising.  I followed along the side of the hill here, over fences, logs and thru underbrush.  Here was the coal region; often I came upon old forsaken mines – tumbling buildings, piles of slate, and dark holes in the side of the hill.  The forest in these places was rapidly being thinned out.  In every direction blunt mournful looking stumps squatted on the earth – sad reminders of former splendid trees.

     Finally I came to an abandoned mine where I sat down for a moment – intended to be a moment at first. – There were a couple small delapidated buildings, almost hidden by large round piles of slate and on every side the ground was