"The storm that bends the birch trees Is held to be violent But how about the storm That bends the backs of the roadworkers?"

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On the way I stood a moment looking out across the marshes with tall cattails, a patch of water, more marsh, then the woods with a few birch trees shining white at the edge on beyond. In the darkness it all looked just like I felt. Wet and swampy and gloomy, very gloomy. In the morning I painted it. My memory of it is that it was probably my best painting that summer.

— Georgia O'Keeffe