Creations.

There’s this eagle in the sky

And he just happens to know this guy,

Who knew a good old friend of mine.

And that good old friend used to build signs.

He built them big, he built them grand,

He built them all across the land.

He also built them quite small,

And sometimes very, very tall.

He painted great, bright shades

Burgundies, blues, reds, and suede’s.

They stood out, vibrant against any backdrop

Grassy field, town squares, or corn cash crops.

They started from a nice strong base

He chose cedar and walnut and built with grace

He’d cut the wood and sand it smooth,

He let it follow its natural groove.

Whichever way its grain would slope

He would follow without doubt, only hope,

For he and the wood had become close over time

He knew how to build, how to sculpt, just right

He’d spend hours until the base was perfect

Modest and delicate, never eccentric-

And when every screw was perfectly in place

He’d cover it in a pristine glaze.

Every ounce of effort put in would show

And the wood would sparkle, gleam, glow,

And then, my old friend, well, he’d cover it in canvas

He’d stretch it tight, like the petals of a fresh polyanthus.

He’d hand mix paints from red, yellow, and blue

He’d let the paint guide him – if you could, wouldn’t you?

He had a gift, a passion, you could say

His signs were is art, they varied, they swayed.

No two signs were ever the same

But I think that he just liked it that way.

And if you’d ever ask, he’d say they built themselves

They formed on their own, nothing to do with himself.

And his whole life, he made these signs alive

From wood, glaze, canvas, and paint they were derived.

He made them, and they made him

Symbiotic, co-existing, it was good luck, just a whim!

And so that eagle in the sky

Who’d swoop and dip and knew that guy
Who knew that good old friend of mine

Would perch and sit on a grand sign,

Little did he know my good old friend

Had built there, every crook and bend

And placed it where the street would end

So the eagle could rest in it’s descent.

Riley Welch

2013