Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Here the scent of Hawthorne blossoms filled the air – the white trees were on all sides. One may see far from these meadows. The curling blue-green trees with their heat whitened edges were like unto the curling thunderheads just barely visible in the west. The breeze was brisk and hot and afforded no relief. A chewink cooled the air with its liquid song of infinite inflictions. A yellow-bird sang occasionally and a brown thrasher scolded from some oaklings. The clicker of grass hoppers seemed to intensify the heat.(HT)Dully I tramped over the hot hilly pastures; a clear cold-looking stream crossing my path tempted me to drink – the water was nauseating. And again some Brookline bordering the edge of a sickly swilly stream momentarily held my attention. In such a condition I was when a bird flew but a few feet in front of me, which as I followed it with my eye I saw to bet a scarlet tanager! Forgotten at once were the heat and my thirst at the sight of this rare