This is: the new me. Or at least I am back, after wandering in the mires; I have returned. I shall not be stifled this time.
My cold is nearly over, my legs have the urging fizzy feeling again, so I rode at race pace to work today despite my lungs not being clear, none-the-less, I am out of the slow country. I draw breath through flared nostrils and the air smells sweet. My heart pounds against my chest in the old way it used to.

Wyeth: much to think over here, the more I try to understand the visual language, the more I am drawn in. I have two problems to solve, one is my own lack of experience with tempera painting. The other is the desire to become more fluent in this visual language. I shall read on.