Change was in the air and old dreams were left aside for another future. New ones sprung in their place and were nurtured in to fruition. When each cool drop of rain runs down my neck I am reminded me that the portico's and protection of Bologna are far away. Here the streets are open offering little in the way of architectural umbrellas but in the same instance there are no barriers, nothing to obscure your fields of view. Bologna may shelter the ombrophobiacal pedestrian but it also shelters the mind and obscures not only the storm clouds but any vision or ambition for the future.
I have arrived in Cambridge where I can see a future. It is not some grand and poetic thing for tales by the fire. Nor some thing that gives the right to brag among the elite at a party of some circle of society or another. It is the simple truth that the future will be calm. It will be exciting. It will be happy and I will be content.
My love, my job and my home. To paint, to work, to live and love. Is it really as simple as this?
A change has come and gone and I feel displaced but displaced from something old. So very very old that being part of it was like being sucked into it's decaying history. Displaced into something new and something fresh. The change has come and gone and the change was good.