Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Mists seem poured out by sun’s rays. Beauty of whitish green locusts against opaque sky.(HT)The road beyond more secluded - edged with trees. “Millions” of birds. Flickers, chewink, song-sparrows, blue-jays, cardinals, many unfamiliar ones - these are but the ones I “heard” Hear un¬familiar bird call - not unlike the sound of a squeeky windmill tho without that harshness. I proceeded in the direction of the tree whence came the call, but had not gone far when It’s author took alarm and flew to the south. Presently hear call again I look and barely distinguish him on a dead