Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

various sounds.; Predominating was the wind rattling thru the scubby elms overhead – punctuated at times by the isolated call of a killdeer, of a meadow-lark, it was sometime before I became sensitive to the finely ticking chorus of young crickets. I thought of Sibelius, and how he was supposed to get musical ideas by going out and listening by the hour to the “voices of nature”. I wondered if the wind would suggest stringed instruments while the birds would be his oft interpolated phrases for oboe or clarinet. To me, of course, the sounds remained elemental, not musical.; Looking up thru the trees, the branches were beautiful. The bottom side, being completely dark was a rich plum color, the “sides” softened on the upper air, were of a lavender-gun-metal cast in fine contrast to the ragged pennants of green and blue green leaves; thru which appeared the vast misty pale blue vault of the sky. ; The long stretching ridge to the north, was saturated with a blue haze, as tho been thru sunlit water.; Drive eastwards awhile then out back by a road along the north ridge, thence back to 219 and on towards Springville, watching as I drove, the progress of a vast blue-black storm to the northeast. At Boston I drove east to the Cole Rd, where I parked to watch another large storm to the south. ; I sat here for some time, enjoying the vastness of the spectacle and feeling very small and ineffectual. A glorious rainbow to the east, and to the west the sun kept creating dramatic effects with the clouds. The whole valley and range of hills to the south was soon obscured by a vast wall of falling rain, the roar of which came to