Ever-declining sleep quality lately has blessed me with a preponderance of dreams turning lucid; most recently, I was lying on a grassy, featureless field, and decided I wanted to see a magpie. I painted one on the ground in front of me, with big brush strokes of my mind, and it started to sing; I could reach out and just barely touch it, feeling it light on the back of my fingers like aether. As I continued to paint, my intention settled that it should be younger, and its song turned into a baby’s meeps.