Memories of Percy French

The sky was a watercolour
bleeding above my head
a sunset to end a perfect day.
With quick brushstrokes
branches pierced the autumn sun
as crows gathered to roost.
Donard’s massive shoulder darkened
and the sea quietly whispered.
The swirling water in the jar
became yellow, turning crimson
from the soft belly of the brush
the handle chinking against glass.
All around was the smell of the sea
and memories of Percy French as I signed.

-Billy Campbell.