One of the great artists of the world lives in my back yard, near the fence that surrounds the dog run. I have never seen her, although I often look for her. I have a crush on her, even though she has four or five times as many legs as I have. She is remarkable creative and enduring, especially since her artworks are routinely destroyed by wind, sun.

Although she is gifted beyond my imagination, she has something of a ruthless streak, a good thing for artists to have. Yesterday I saw a wasp fly right into her great creation and I thought I caught a glimpse of her, but wasn’t sure. Later I saw that the wasp was all wrapped up and still in a cocoon. This morning he was gone and a new piece of art appeared. We humans are arrogant and narcissistic. We think we have a lock on the skills to make art. What can I do next to this? I doubt I will ever meet this artist, but I think of her as an inspiration, a colleague, a rising star who does not need fame or money or the approval of humans. Just some flies and wasps.

She does not complain about galleries, agents, the fickle tastes of customers. She does not weave on and on about how wondrous artists are, how tormented and creative, how underappreciated and misunderstood. She just makes great art, every day.