From time to time, I'm pulled by the lunar forces to wander at night up to the top of Isham Hill, where I sit to draw a portrait of the moon in the old style. Sometimes, I am accompanied by a companion - provisioned with some poems, wine, and cashews - who recites verse to the silvery orb long into the night. More often though, I am alone on my folding stool or on a rock under the silent sphere with brush, ink, color, and a flask filled with Smokey Moon Grog and a tuna sandwich.