Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 It is an epic of great undreamed of deeds written for all mankind to see. When the black rainless clouds are smiling overhead see¬ming so near we imagine to could touch them from a house roof, and the approaching wind is still a dull roar in the distance, then has the chasm between reality + imagination been bridged. Almost unconsciously we throw back our shoulders, expand our chests, stand erect with knees together and with face upward, inhale deeply of all that it has to contain, which is not merely