changes.

Nothing’s forever.

Your last failed painting is your first in a new line of work. Or the humus to stoke the soil of your next successful painting.

Your opinion of your work will change. You will change.

The rejections will eventually yield an acceptance.

You’ll roast a duck, and it’ll be good. You’ll make korma and freeze the leftovers. Jamaican beef patties will stay fresh in the fridge. You’ll buy another box of wine.

Owls will scream at night again. The pileated woodpecker will swoop in like a highway flare riding flung scrap metal, fold its wings and dance up and down the trunks.

The papered-over skies will clear.

Endless snow banks fallen months ago will eventually subside.