Here they are, gathered and finished and primed. Waiting to see what they will be. I can look at them and clearly see the mice, remember the tall windows with rain streaming down and the snip, snip, of the scissors. Things always work themselves into the art. Always. I'm writing this between drying layers of paints on Neil's "Luck Be Nimble, Fate Be Quick". I'm having an interesting time with it. I realized just today, in these last stages that the experience of reading Anansi Boys has been a factor here, in a strange, sweet sort of way. I'll take some photos Friday and show you what I mean.