Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

singing, but more delightful than this was the manner in which the wind scattered the seed from the bobbing dandelion balls, which whitened the field about me. With each increased puff from the wind the winged seeds arose in clouds and flew in a gay whirling mass over the field, across the road and up over the Lawn out of sight.  They were like fitful March snow-flurries.

As I went on my way towards Bentley’s I gradually became conscious of the fact that Nature has suddenly stolen a march on us and taken a big stride from spring towards summer. The change is so gradual and unostentatious that when we do take notice of it, it is so nearly complete that we imagine the transformation was completed in a single night. It seems but a few days ago that we were having a discussion with Eastman about painting nature in the spring time. I remember his remarking that everything was sat­urated with yellow-green, due to the fact that all the trees & bushes were just bud-