When I left my class last night, I looked up at the sky in the creeping dusk and saw a moon of tempera set in a sky of Indian ink, clouds seemed to be sketched across it. Turning to the retreating sun, it lit the clouds like Turner. I drove with the windows down, smelling the greenery as I went through the River Arts District and felt much like George Emerson in 'A Room with a View' ready to shout out my creed of 'Truth! Beauty'.
