|mixed-media collage on large canvas |
Autumn SceneUpon the hills the giant trees with color were ablaze,
Like smoke from smouldering embers rose the late September haze.
All silent and magnificent I fancied I could see
The Master Artist touching up some solitary tree,
But the glory of the landscape was a flash of crimson flame
At the bottom of the picture where the painter signs his name.
Now I cannot speak the language of the men who paint and draw.
And with technical precision can't describe the scene I saw.
All I know is that a picture was unrolled for me to see,
And the high lights and the shadows just what they ought to be,
But that gorgeous burst of color
in the foreground caught my eye
And I knew it made the landscape,
though I couldn't say just why.
It struck me as peculiar, where an earthly painter signs;
The Master Artist signed His name in tangled shrubs and vines.
And as I stepped up closer
I discovered and was glad
He had given that touch of splendor to the poorest stuff He had.
To the common things in summer
Which man scarecely sees at all
He had given the place of honor and the glory of the fall.
- edgar a. guest