Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

to bring out the quality of a plant. A patch of ragweed becomes alive with silvery bristle. Heads of fox-tail grass becomes golden foam. A sweaty plantain sparkles.There is nothing quite as beautiful as the Dutchman’s on a hazy morning. As I came down the Painter Road I marvelled at its wonder. The whole wooded hill was a mass of mist saturated with white sunlight, and was divided into layers, one behind the other. Only the tops of such divisions were visible, they seemed like clouds, and one expected a breeze to blow them away at any