Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

then under jutting rocky formations. Soon I have to go on my hands and knees. The rocks are covered over with cream-colored ceiling wall paper, which has the exciting odor such paper has when it has just been applied. I reach what seems to be the end of the way, a sort of pocket in the cliff; but almost at once I perceived a doorway in the wall of the cliff—opening it, I ascend some winding stairs and come out upon the flagstone court at the entrance to an old chapel which seems to constitute another entrance to the cemetery. The chapel faces west, and the court is enclosed by a stone and wrought iron balustrade in the west and north sides. It was not these however that caught my eye as I came up; it was the scene lying immediately beyond, which consisted of an old abandoned street running along the north end of the tree-lined cemetery and chapel, & terminating at the court on which I was standing. The first object to catch my eye was an ancient false-front store, standing starkly in the low December sunshine. Along the corner of the chapel, alien to it, and framing in the scene, was a bizarre half column such as appeared on store fronts of the false front period. I thought with eagerness that I would come back some day and set up my easel in the chapel court and paint to my heart’s content. Leaning over the balustrade I became more and more fascinated with the various things in the street—close at hand, were four old pianos grouped roughly in a square, rotting in the dark, sandy soil of the street. Next to the false front store were ancient clapboard houses in the last stages of decay—in one it seemed that a circus