Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

cold air greets me. Water glassy. Reflects the sky end is yet brighter.(HT)Marsh across from here at foot of Cigar Mountain is white ans~ seems snow-covered. Tree shadows glide over the ground and fall into creek - one expects them to ripple it.(HT)Sound of “Wee-wee-wee” fill the air - and katydids.(HT)Hear a horse plunging in and out of water. See it - a black mishapen thing. Finally something startles it. Away it trots over the solid hills.