Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

formed clouds appeared, contrasting to the yellow thunderheads. The air was deadeningly oppressive and very quiet.

     After a siege of corn-shucking mother Fred and I were sitting in the swing pleasantly chatting. Presently a few drops of rain came idly down. Remembering that former storms this summer had started in the same indifferent unpretentious manner, I was not surprised when the rain steadily increased in volume. It was coming from the northeast and the sky in that direction was a smear of smooth grey expanses broken here and there by a black cloud, or half formed thunder-head.

     All at once the sun, low down in the western sky, came out full and strong. The effect was at once wierd and beautiful. The dashing rain, and the spray clouds that arose from rattling roofs were gently colored with sparkling yellow light. Dripping trees and grass sparkled brilliantly and telling wires glistened