Spinning Pins

The painter is visiting nearby and is told about a snowy owl spotting the week before. It was sitting on a fencepost and then flew across the road in front of the person's car, on enormous not-entirely-white wings, far out of its species' normal range. Newspaper accounts and official mobilizations followed.

The painter leaves and drives down the same road on which the owl was seen. It is a rainy, anticipatory day. After the bridge he sees it--on a fencepost, not entirely white, leaning forward--but it never takes off. It is plastic. It watches him pass with alarmed plastic eyes.