Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

transparent crimson.

The whistle of the wind seems lost from a stormy winter’s day.

Charm of English-Sparrows splashing in watering pan.

The first frost came dawn last night. I was up too late, but Jim, who arose early to attend a clambake, reported that in the country it was heavy.

Beauty of cool dampish arbor speckled with curled buff-colored grape-leaves and mottled sunshine.

Sparrows hostile to gold-finches but do not make open attacks.

The metallic buzzing of katy-dids synonymous with scrawly grass seed-heads and weeds.

The sight of stationary flies in arbor always exasperating to me.

The withering stems of Jack-in-the-pulpits a bearing the red bunches of fruit, have toppled over under the weight, and the red berries are scattering. But by what means are they scattered?

Everlasting quality of poke-weed. The plant