Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

down the canyon. Crowning the cliff here is a grove of hemlocks, chestnut-oaks, and other oaks, and the ground is covered with a thick light green cushiony moss, and various low growing plants as pigeon berry, arbutus, & wintergreen.
The ground adjacent to the edge of the cliff, is not flat as might be supposed, but uneven, with depressions & knolls. Just to the west there is a little hill, completely overgrown with pines & hemlocks; many of the trees completely covered with grotesque masses of wild grapevines.
-- While I was eating my lunch a violent rainstorm – by leaning up close to the truck of an oak, I manage to keep fairly dry. Beautiful effects of the rain in the canyon – the drops appearing not as streaks (the usual impression of rain) but as individual drops, like hail or snow (I first noticed this effect several days ago, standing in the door of the shed, watching a shower at sun-down. Holding a paper up to blot out the sun, I saw the rain drops over Miller’s yards, in the same fashion,-- drops of pure gold.) The trunk of the oak was warm, and gave off a spiky odor, and it was pleasant, to press up close to it—I thought of lightning striking the tree, but at once the thought came to me, that if He elected to take me now I was ready to go, and only pressed the closer, feeling perfectly safe.
Walking back to the car thru the wet grass & plants. Bouquet of goldenrod—