awakening at the source, sight is blurred, more seeing than looking, it is motion sensitive, such as the innocent gaze of childhood and ephemeral postcards, charged with life, piercing through snow like so many beams of light, engaging in endless dialogues into the small hours of an insomniac, as glamour frames its aftermath, to strip your body, be visiblesave face, bare yourself and claim the redemption of play as you come full circle