I stepped out doors for the last weekend morning cigarette and found autumn on my steps.

In my limited working-hour cigarette intoxications, I am witness to strange lake-side congregations from my ornithological armchair. Namely, an avian olympiad! The ever-present population of Canadian Geese and the contingent of wayward Herons always segregate themselves appropriately, but now, NOW a flock (dissimulations be damned!) of Ravens have descended on the birdy community and they all war-game, all the long day! Congress, skein and siege strive for glory, not for any apparent territory or resources because, when their sweet science gets dropped, corner generalship rules; squadron seconds serve side-wise sans sedition, everyone rests, all birds win.

On my way back from lunch, a van nearly hit me, barreling from behind into the left lane one instant short of an accident. I glanced over at the offensive party and noticed that they had a number of passengers, one of which was a small collie. I pulled forward to see if the dog would bark at me, and it did. So I rocked back and forth, to agitate the collie as well as the human content of van. And I felt some satisfaction when my plan succeeded and the van's interior filled with angry activity and noise.

Now that I think about it, I feel awful for torturing the dog.