Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Today I identified my mournful songster of yesterday not as “he” but as a female gold finch. They came in great numbers today both male and female and as they fluttered around the sunflower seeds they kept up an unceasing chatter. The male cry is a rollicking chipper. As birds indeed, they are a rollicking, frolicking gay and blithesome tribe.

     The play of noon-day sunlight on wind-tossed trees is a delightful sight. But more beautiful than this is the twinkling of poplar leaves. Their pliable stems allow the wind to whirl the leaves around and around, whose shiny surfaces catch the sun’s light and reflects it forth and that sparkle is of such a delightful nature that we imagine it is jarred off by the whirl­ing motion.

     At mid-afternoon, a chance glance out of a window, while on a trip upstairs, disclosed to me a pretty sight. Distant trees, were partially obscured by the smoke from