Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Directly I was going along in the dew-dampened grass in Strawn’s Lots, I seemed already far away from town. The whole earth was enveloped in a heavy blue-green haze which the misty sun, tho three hours high, seemed as yet unable to penetrate. Bird calls filled the air, and on analizing it, I found the chorus was composed chiefly of song sparrows + meadowlarks and also a bird unfamiliar to me, whose call; represented in a word, is a wierd “wee-rie.” There was another bird, which sang at rare intervals but when he did sing, all others became insignificant. This was the bobolink.(HT)While sauntering along, reveling in the sounds, a harsh metallic chirping sound attracted my ear, which was not unlike a sparrows chatter, tho stronger and more regular in repetition. Curiosity aroused I proceeded in the direction where it came. A little too hasty, the author of the cry took alarm and flew out. In flight, coloring and shape he was identical with the quail, but my inexperience could not reconcile the latter with such a sound.