Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 hayfield, before so dull + green, becomes a mad swirl of rythmic ripples. What is so beautiful as a wind tossed butterfly rising an falling over a bobbing cloverfield?(HT)(HT)Today is a windy day.(HT)(HT)Lay in bed half the morning with face to the window. The wind started early, at first seeming like the inevitable early morning rush of air but as each succeeding puff became stronger, it was soon evident that this was a breeze come to stay awhile.(HT)(HT)How the wind prods the