Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

with an hilarious roar of delight to plunge down some steep hill, jostling the other drops and gnaw at ice and snow on the way; to churn and bubble around rocks; to sneak under the roots of tall trees in the dark earth; to glide thru fibrous roots and receive their blessing; to come out again into the cool air and warm sunshine and slip over smooth patches of ice; and finally, with more hilarious laughter to jump into a large creek, your work accomplished - such a think were a joy indeed and the only remedy for that yearning feeling. That was it! I wanted to be a part of this awakening, not a mere beholder, who only half understood what was going on.

Here it was I undertook to descend the hill to the path below. The hill here,as I said was covered with a dense growth of sap­lings and brambles, and I had a hard time getting thru. The earth was, if I may use the term, saturated with ice - not ice on top, but water and earth mingled to-gether and frozen. The growths here were mostly oaks, saplings, witchhazels and raspberry bushes, the latter of course proving the most troublesome. Then too the earth was deceivingly slippery. Once I slipped and fell,