What it is, ain't exactly clear. . .
<looking at the painting>. . . there's a man with a gun over there. . .
So this is very interesting, flashing back to my early school days using the old technique of scribbling crayons down and then covering it with India ink and scratching out these rainbow colors. And also some of these shapes remind me of children's paintings in tempera pinned with thumbtacks to a cork board or magnets on mom's refrigerator. . . only now the child has grown up and is approaching the place he left off, rediscovering the path, which is overgrown and hard to distinguish. Reminds me of so many stories, where the person returns the the last turning point, the last place where the Muse or Pan was seen and waits, and re-enacts, in a sort of deconstruction of all that happened since last visiting that place, hoping to lure Pan or the Muse back in order to take the other fork in the road, etc etc. . .
I think this kid who did this should be in the gifted program. . . especially since there were no such distinctions way back in the Spring when buffalo roamed the fields.
As a total digression, I wonder how much of an irony Steven Stills and all had intended when choosing that name for the band -- the parallel with the Springfield rifles that slaughtered the herds -- referring to changes, demonstrations, wars etc etc. Like, where was all this social consciousness shift and the resistance heading? The world is our oyster and so on.
Retirement. . . gotta love it (or so I would surmise). Decidedly there are to be changes.
"Not a bit is wasted and the best is yet to come. . ." -- remembered from a dream