Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

came to a path that led along the Dutchman’s Hill, lower down.

On I went following this twisting climbing path.  Every little while as I walked on thru the woods, I came to little hollows, down which tiny streams trickled, losing themselves in the swamp at the foot of the hill.  On every side, as we went along, little strange wild birds fluttered along, looking questionally at us.  Again was I filled with a vague desire to know the names of these little creatures.  At one of the hollows I saw some crows alight for the first time anywhere near me.  First three came along overhead flapping their great white wings; finally with a many hoarse “Caws” they settled in a tree up the hollow, one of them catching his wide-spread wings in the branches.  Then two or three more came and settled in the same place, and the air was filled with their discordant cries.  At last one by one they flew away out of sight.

At one place along the path I was walking along whistling at the top of my voice, when I saw an Hypatica – a single little pale blue Hypatica blooming all by itself in all the dead leaves – my first Hypatica!  I stooped down and carefully picked it – it seemed a pity to thus kill it,