Memories of Shanbei come in shades of black and white.
Amid the stones of Oxford past and present he paints it.
I reach out to touch it, real but not concrete.
Celtic mists swirl in with rain from the West
to shower the East, clouded in the spirit of the Dao, and meet
in the mind of the artist. Fingers grasp the brush to request
the muses for movement, swift and light.
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