Madonna Litta

Madonna Litta
madonna with the yarnwinder painting
Mother and Child
My Sweet Rose painting Quiet!" he whispered. "Just relax." Han squinted up at the dim form above him. "I can't see…What's happening?"He was, understandably, disoriented, after having been in suspended animation for sixof this desert planet's months—a period that was, to him, timeless. It had been agrim sensation—as if for an eternity he'd been trying to draw breath, to move, toscream, every moment in conscious, painful asphyxiation—and now suddenly he wasdumped into a loud, black, cold pit. His senses assaulted him all at once. The air bit at his skin with a thousand icyteeth; the opacity of his sight was impenetrable; wind seemed to rush around his earsat hurricane volumes; he couldn't feel which way was up; the myriad smells filling hisnose made him nauseous, he couldn't stop salivating, all his bones hurt—and thencame the visions. Visions from his childhood, from his last breakfast, from twenty-seven