Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

“falling over point” was a collection of white rocks, around which the yellow creek churned as tho angry at their presence. The water, I could see was coming from the flat fields that extend eastward from the top of the slope. I went along the summit for short distance. A short distance from the first muddy torrent was another one,larger than the first, diving downhill around the roots of a couple gigantic chestnuts, and thru a lot of dense underbrush. Again an overpowering desire to do something came over me caused by the roar of the torrent, the wet reeking earth, the cooling breeze and the warm sunshine. Oh to be a drop of water to gradually disentangle one’s self from a sinking snowbank, or clump of frozen earth, to gradually take on the shape of a drop of water, to came forth and receive all the glare of the sun-light in oneself and send it forth again with an added glitter and a brillancy; to then join a myried other drops and start out over a muddy field, picking up loose dirt;to gather reenforce­ments at every slight tiny hill and form a tiny rippling hill; to go on and on over the hill until you became a part of a good sized torrent; and then