Golden Field a watercolor and a poem

It has been a while since I posted anything but I have been working hard, most of the work is unrelated to art and poetry.  I have struggled with this poem for a long time, it once was twice as long and bounced all over as an epic of my life and then when I noticed the arrogance in it all I decided to cull it down to just a few stanzas.  The painting was my third version of a theme I really liked but it was waiting for the poem to behave itself.  Enjoy!

15 x 22 watercolor on 300lb paper.  “Golden Field”

Golden Field

Standing next to my tired

French easel,

That’s covered in duct tape and years of splatter

I look up,

across a golden sunlit field,

To a white clapboard house

That cries out to me like a long lost lover.

Shimmering like a pearl necklace

On a pad of rich amber velvet

Under a lazy blue-violet sky

And tucked into a copse green umber trees

The light on the house creating shadows

Like a modern version of a Franz Kline painting

The house reflecting the summer light

Lies slightly buried in a field of tall swaying weeds,

Seeds pods pregnant ready to give birth.

the delicate fragrance of wild flowers

rises with the heat.

Ready with my paint, paper and brushes

I pull down my hat to screen the glare

I’m alive, awake, in the moment.

Sometimes when trying to mix the perfect grey,

Or softening the edges of a cloud

I can feel one with the movement of the grass

as it whispers to me, its’ primal rhythms

and waves to the bees and birds.

I can hear the low rumbling voice of ancient rocks

weathered by nature over millions of years

as they grind from mountain boulder to grains of sand.

and I can talk to the birds as they keep a wary eye on me

but they do appreciate my adult conversations.

In these moments I am nature

Not above, not removed, not in control

Just one, at peace, aware

Aware that today

I only need shape, color and proper proportion.