Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Someone up the street played chopsticks; the “brassy crescendo” of the cicadas - on the way to Aunt Em’s – a woman wailing religious songs in a terrible, bawling twanging voice - how it recalls sad blackrobed (sic) women puttering around in cemeteries) Aunt Em’s – the closed room ¬– the tick-tock of the grandfather clock – the attention to the cat –Monday at Kenreich’s – in the evening the cricket chorus & katy-dids – the flat side of a white house in an august twilight, with black shadows on all sides – On our automobile trip; at the little village of Frederickstown we asked at the Blacksmith shop the way to West Point “just follow this road on thru to “Cutty” – there was something admirable about the simplicity of this man in assuming the we knew that “cutty” meant “Calcutta” – while he was talking, a funny little old whiskered man came out and peered at us intently – silently – stupidly – he leaned forward to unleash his scrutiny - he was like a curious groundhog –