Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

[inscription reads] wind streaked ever the flattened grass, the gloss spots of the rippling blades appearing like finely sifting snow! At 3:30 thru (sic) Park to room. A sleet shower wind whistled. Thence to Library afoot. I walk head high & chest out exultant in the wind. / Remembering the purpose of my walk, I pondered on the abun-dance of my discussion on God recently. After all, I concluded I am not here to ponder on the orgin (sic) or destiny of