Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

and gradually it comes to where I am; immense distances – far out see strange dusky woods beyond a swamp full of grass stumps – all at once clear silvery whistle of meadowlark there are several + even as a new blizzard comes up they fling their bell like notes to the snowflakes   I enter the fields – black pools in swamp; the woods a new sensation I have never before ex-