Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Uncouth people attain poetry Some raw hillside has dry curly grass bending in the wind, while the wind carries to some far hill the moan of a train

July 13 – 1928

A memory from June – The sight of flea-bane stirs me the same as the smell of lilacs – it comes as a remember out of my childhood – fleabane in a tall-grass meadow, somehow associated with the gray bleached out side of an old barn.
There must be a time in the life of hay when it is at its best that lasts only a few hours, and if you miss that you never see its real beauty. For this morning going in on the bus, I saw hay-blooms that surpassed any in beauty that I ever saw.
Hay-bloom, elder bloom & a rainy July sky.