Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

above a sorrel-reddened meadow between me and the Trees. Of all bird’s songs I have ever heard I think his is rendered in the most delightful manner. Inspired to warble, he flies up into the air a short distance and then with wings bowed sharply downward he lets himself fall in the wind. Almost simultaneous with his descent but coming just a trifle later comes his song which is announced by a short sharp chirp. And than his song bubbles from him, pours from him, breaks from him and is caught by the wind and scattered far and wide over the meadow. The bobolink is synonymous with wind flattened meadows of sheep sorrel, dandelion seed-heads, and timothy hay and I might add - sky smeared with wind racked clouds and vapors.

Next stop was in a small hayfield fronting Union St. just opposite Brooks Lawn. Here I squatted in the hay to paint. While here a songsparrow delight me a short while with his