The wind swirled through town blowing the last remnants of clouds over hills and back from whence they came. The moon could just be glimpsed in its first stage, a waning crescent. Stars out bright back lighting the steeple and I think I’m final ready. I squelch through the soggy grass to my perch at the edge of a stand of maples. From my vantage point I see the town laid out before me, soft and sleepy in the crisp night air, with the hills falling away to my right and the stars our in full force. At last, I bring fourth my brushes, and begin to paint.