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Standing in the Suffolk soil that Becker strode, I splash about colours of countryside, to the nonchalant song of the skylarks. Buzzard scoops across the trees, summer leaves shimmering in the distance. Heat hazed lazy days caught and stroked onto canvas, caresses of memory in solid hues, blues, yellows, mauve. Winter too, begs to be daubed in greys and barks of dark and I wonder at the same senses that inspired Becker. Timelessness coursing through new veins, again I record the beauty of rural life, natural habitat of human nature, drawn to re tell the story, share the glory which is Suffolk.