Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

they must have blundered thru some dew-laden Jewellweed. What sharp graceful turns they make!(HT)(HT)With a spring I vaulted from the creek bed to the high bank –bang! The whole meadow was filled with a piercing whistling whir, that jarred the willows, and the waters below - a flock of birds looking not unlike quail, as my view of them was end on, shot from the grass, and whistled & whirred away in a big circle over a woody hill ahead out of sight. An occurrence like this gives a thrill which