Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

pulpy nubbins! The hunter goes from one to another in pure child-­like ardor. Their beautiful odd tone of old rose -! one likes to feast his eyes them.(HT)Am momentarily exulting over the wonder of the day. In ecstacy of mind after long exile. My every turn reveals great pictures. Blue distances.(HT)As I rambled along, I composed music to myself and I found the more I used “soe” the more it seemed to fit the day. Compositions wherein the note “soe” is emphasized always reminds me of fall.(HT)While we were busy in