Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

and that it had completed itself. (HT)There was a dense white mist in the morning, breaking thru which, the sunlight was beautiful.(HT)These mornings seem to belong to no particular season - neither summer winter spring nor autumn. They are wonderful creations. Neither are they the compound of the four seasons tho all are represented in our imagination. There is something else in them, which makes them different from all others. I have this feeling all thru the autumn, especial-