Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

yellow above. To the north are some great cumulus-like clouds the tops of which are pale salmon & cold pink, the eastern sides coldly lit up by the moon. It is a magic moment, when day & night are about equal – my paper catches a yellow glow from the west and already the moon, when it appears, casts a shadow on it. In the valley just below the deep purple horizon are the star-lights of Hamburg—
As I ascend the road, my thoughts become incoherent with the strange beauty of uncanny night – I exult in wandering alone again over barren country at night-fall; Just before I reach the Chestnut Ridge Road, I turn and behold Buffalo on the far-horizon to the north – a long wide-stretching veil of thousands of stars twinkling in a deep purple haze; a faint ruddy glow on the low-hanging clouds above – a narrow search-light flashing regularly.
I proceed north along the Chestnut Ridge Road toward Orchard Park – The sky to the east – heavily dappled, with random rays of moonlight – has that strange unreal look of the east that belongs to another prehistoric time – I pass strangely silent farmhouses – some all dark, some with cheerful yellow windows. Sometimes a dog barks – once or twice a machine shoots past – Flaming iron oil-balls, at repair