When I first moved here, it was not uncommon on my evening dog walks around town to hear eastern screech owls (Megascops asio) calling. It is a rare occurence these days. Granted, it is a secretive bird but I can't help but wonder if screechies are on the decline. I miss its call, a gargly whiney-like whistle, that prompted the titling of this sketch "the whistler".


"From around the age of six, I had the habit of sketching from life. I became an artist, and from fifty on began producing works that won some reputation, but nothing I did before the age of seventy was worthy of attention. At seventy-three, I began to grasp the structures of birds and beasts, insects and fish, and of the way plants grow. If I go on trying, I will surely understand them still better by the time I am eighty-six, so that by ninety I will have penetrated to their essential nature. At one hundred, I may well have a positively divine understanding of them, while at one hundred and thirty, forty, or more I will have reached the stage where every dot and every stroke I paint will be alive."

love. love. love. love. love this.