The Watercolour Memories of Cypress Bowl 1985

That image faded into a wash of distant pines and firs,
Only my vivid memory remained,
The keeper of my dreams and the silent witness,
Would be those stoic pines and timid firs,
They'll all smile back from their dizzying heights,
Whom amongst you saw a man revealing his inner emotions?,
Those luxurious hues spread veraciously on canvas,
That elusive ideal image cried out as a continuous birth,
Somewhat like that of an unknown new being,
Born into a natural world,
Articulating their presence their here,
The sounds in which the baby needs to be nurtured,
Oh, those views with their impressions,
Sending those soft colour of washes reveling to the command,
Of a personal representation,
Thanks to the Heavens I would think to myself,
That day the earth radiated all that warmth,
And created the mirage only that medium could manage,
To bring forth in the soft treatment and emotions of that day at Cypress Bowl,
I still tremble with that certain Feeling of Art,
Which one has to create in their own style,
Each tree reached to the Heavens,
Upon venturing back along that secret gravel trail,
At the bowl those trees would greet the tired traveller with his gear,
And all the growth different now but those feelings still familiar and nearer.