Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

plunging my hand wrist-deep in some cold slushy snow; On a raspberry branch I found a cocoon which I took with me.

Once on the path below, I breathed easier and started rapidly southward, entering the denser woods. A fox squirrel chattered, and looking up I saw him run down a tree. A little further on, I heard him again, and looking back I saw him run up the tree trunk again, pause suddenly holding himself very tense, and then swing around the trunk, his head looking exactly like a dead branch stub - doubtless a protective feature. Every little while I came to a rushing torrent of water. The gradual cessation of sound from one torrent as I left it, to the gradual increase of sound of the next, was a pleasing sensation. I have said this before, butt - what a day this was!  Up over the hill in the east, thru the trees, could be seen the deep blue of the sky - such a wonderful, deep intensity of blue as is rarely seen in the sky. And the constant roaring of the streams, above which sometimes could be heard the rattle and rustle of wind blown leaves, was in perfect harmony with such a sky. Now and then, a small