Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

the sending forth exquisite flowers is unabated. Cornblades curling splitting. The wind no longer rustles the leaves - it rattles them - papery sound.(HT)A crescent spot pursues its shadow over the grass, and it seems as tho he lost sight of it by his aimless flight. The south¬west sky is white, and the whitened, mist-blued trees seem ever on the point of fading into it.(HT)About 5:00 (4:00 central time) the sun goes out, and before six o’clock it is almost too dark to see. Out of work, I saw that the