Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

as splendid as in the spring.(HT)Bark of woodchuck. Was standing not two paces from his hole. Presently his head appeared, remains short while & disappeared. (HT)At the edge of a wheat-field golden-rod & boneset mingle with the butterfly weed. From wheatfield hear subconsciously what I thought were quiblings of sparrows - it was too monotonous to attract attention outright. By its persistency however I was forced to listen to it, and I all at once realized it was a bobolink. But what a parody - this harsh chattering - it was unmistakable tho, every