Sometimes when we feel free,
Freer then the Pacific Oceans winds,
That bluster through our nerves,
And challenge us all to take in a deep breath,
We've come along distance to Beacon Hill,
Its mere volume awakes something lovely,
And if those splendid trees could talk,
They’d probably say,
"Artists spread out about this landscape and enjoy",
One could just express and feel the need to be,
Such beauty around us all and me,
Some of the other Artists felt the need to see,
With those animals in and amongst the trees,
A maples branch gently taps my shoulder,
Leaves soft and supple,
Autumns awakening sends us quick,
For that winters hand lays before us to grip,
I dip the paintbrush those bristles tickle the colour,
More reds and ochre adhere,
They’ll blend without formality,
Orange shames the yellows,
Greens and blues know where they live,
This paintings signature requires an Expression,
And the spells at ends day,
Would bid us a fond place we'd always stay.
It is the first day of Spring now. Last night the moon, they call the super moon looked lovely. It shone even brighter and appeared larger and that phenomenon will be back in nineteen years.
