Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

[inscription reads] " were a soft golden glow. Rain came at mid-afternoon. As I walked home thru (sic) the park, occasionally the rain seemed ever in the point of becoming snow some soft soggy flakes falling now and then. Rain-glossy branches were beaded with water-drops. The drops know the air is still bright, for they gather in all the light and throw it out again in dazzles. Sidewalks became slushy though there seemed not enough snow to make them so. / The analytical mind kills "