Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

As I climb the winding hill-road, the day is already spent – the sun is not gone yet, but clouds have massed around the western sky and the whole eastern half of the sky belongs to twilight—
I enter upon wilder, more primitive country – dense second growth woods on all sides with only a few open fields. I enter a woods to the south, and wander along with delight. I come to a deep ravine with steep sides. I take a boyish pleasure in descending one side & ascending the other, matching my wits against the steep incline & loose gravelly earth – At the top a woods party displaced by woodcutters – ghastly beech-saplings with dry rotting leaves – I find the road I am seeking, and notice with regret that the great Transit road highway is coming thru here – grading & tree-cutting has been in progress.
Pause to sketch a fine old farm-house – as I finish, the clouds to the east part at the right moment and reveals the newly risen moon with such suddenness that it seems to pop out of the sky, newly born. I ascend a rise of ground and turn to view the west—
The sun was long since gone and heavy threating blue-black clouds have spread over the sky, thru the long snake-like openings gleams the lurid sky – evil blood red low down, shading up to rich orange—