Behind the church where my art group gathers each week to paint, there is a small, weathered shed. Each summer, sunflowers volunteer along its south wall—never planted, simply returning on their own. I’ve painted this place often, drawn to it in late summer and fall as the plants bloom, bow, and begin to fade. Even then, the chickadees arrive, flitting in and out of the spent leaves and seed heads, quietly harvesting what remains. They are small, lively presences, and a simple pleasure to watch.