Painting the neighbors. This barred owl sits at the top of the tree in the next yard over. He calls and chats at dusk, likes when the night has turned to indigo and the moon leaves his shadow on the snow. He’s not done. I’m still using oils (have 19 wet paintings here in my office with me) and he’ll need to dry out a bit before I can whiten his face and feathers. He’s patient. And so I am.