Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

for the two bridges picture, and some studies at Driftwood] Driftwood is a village set down in the narrow valley by the railroad, that has not the least suggestion of anything more modern than 1910 – even the highway is a white dusty road (the finely powdered dust covering the weeds on both sides). Old frame houses, long unpainted – and old travelers commercial Hotel, with its rickety wooden balconies fronting the dusty road – a dusty covered non-memorial in the “square” (a small triangle of dusty sod, formed by the T-ing of the roads. The hot sun beating mercilessly down on the tawdry scene – cicadas droning. On rail roads – sidings were some ancient passenger coaches, – a dirty mildewed white in color, doleful in the hot sunlight. ; Later in the afternoon I drove beyond Sinna-Mahoning. Stopped awhile by the road to watch the reflections in the Sinnamahoning Creek. At this point the stream ran north and south; to the west from its banks, after a narrow flat, arose a great longish hill, tree-covered, jutting up into the hot sky like a great forbidding wall. The water was absolutely gentle, like glass; of a transparent brownish tone, it mirrored objects perfectly, but darkened and browned their color. The great hill, the tops of whose trees caught the light from the declining sun, was transformed into a thing of indescribable beauty as it appeared below, upside down, and tho(sic) its plane narrowed and receded much more rapidly than above, each object was clearly defined. I tossed a large stone into the water, at the nearest edge. The ripples spread out and multiplied at a calm majestic pace. When they came