Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

I paused a moment on the porch and looked out over the western sky. There the clouds were very large and black_, and the sky a bright yellow. From one cloud, I could see rain falling somewhere, a thin grey against the yellow.

     I went out in the backyard to look at my wild flower garden, to enjoy the approach of this thunderstorm, and to listen to the thunder. Jim was raking the yard, and when I came out he told me I rake in the grape arbor Saturday. While I was watching the wild sky he asked me if I thought wild flowers would grow up near the arbor if the yellow dirt should be thrown on and spaded in. I asked him why, and he replied that I might as well plant wild flowers there I thought to myself I would love to, but I know I will be busy this spring.

Just then Mother asked me to go and get the clothes before it rained. The thunder was now becoming louder_, the clouds came lower and blacker. As I went down Fifth St., I could see over in the west, below all the wild expense of black, irregular clouds, a patch of even greyish yellow cloud, which I knew was the rain. On the way back the wind began to blow, and whirled dust up from paved streets. The sun had long gone down and it was becoming dark by now. At time bright flashes of pink lighting lit up the