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The picture is organized around a woman who has a long face, a very distinctive nose, and deadly, fiery eyes. Wait. Allow me to revise what I just wrote. It is a stretch to say that this picture is organized around the woman. It is not organized. In fact, this canvas is filled with disorder. Chaos, even. Still, no matter; it compels me. I want to know this woman. She looks small, or even petite. And yet she looks like if you tried any funny business, you would be put into place. As with most toughened individuals, her toughness is seen in her eyes. Her eyes say that she means what she says, she says what she means. Look into those eyes, see the fire. The woman is surrounded by lines, splotches, and curved, edged, and incomplete shapes of red, yellow, black and green. Blue and orange are dashed onto the canvas too. Today, on a walk around the block with my dog, I heard the call of a Black-capped Chickadee. I stopped, looked up into the winter tree that was just beginning to show signs of spring, and I saw a pair of chickadees dancing around each other, from branch to branch. They might have been at play, but more likely they were competing for control over this part of the tree, now that part, now this part again. My dog did not pull on the leash. He knows that once I spot an interesting bird, we will pause for the duration. (He is a good boy.) Anyway, the chickadees jostled around, for several moments, not but ten feet from my nose. Eventually, one of the birds flew away to a branch on another tree, and I was left to watch the remaining bird, who stayed, examined the branch, flitted here and there. Then, I said aloud, “How do you go, my chickadee, when there’s no dinner left for thee?” And, yes, it might have been my imagination, but I heard him reply, “I do not tire, my friend and dog, I’m filled with fire.” Then, he flew away.