It's good to be back

Like I said, it's good to be back.

If you read this, you have probably already heard, but the colors are everywhere.

The grey cloud of depression-dust that settles over the land of Angles exists no more in my field of vision. Instead, I see the vibrant green from a rainy spring in Texas all the way to the tropical exoticism of New Orleans. Fields of wildflowers blossom along the tarmac where, before, in the land over yonder, the only colors edging the motorway were bags of crisps glittering in their oil-soaked sheen. Now, I look out my windows and smile. Gravity, the who's who of solar-power, pulls my face upwards, lips curling towards the sun. I'm like a plant, only better.

There is of course, a downside. My grod is trapped, a prisoner of his own devices, in the homeland of his most historic enemies. Yet, he will prosper and he will not develop a scouse accent nor will he lose his sanity. Why? Because I've got that part of his brain in my left pocket, securely attached to my lucky rabbit foot and key chain magic eight-ball. Try to jinx that.

I saw my first handgun in a gas station in East Texas. I got excited.

I saw my first glimpse of the loose liquors laws of Louisiana in a gas station in Opelousas. I got excited.

It's good to be back. It'll be even better when we're all back.