But when she gets around people, it seems that she has something urgent to tell. You will see the cat a block away, arresting a couple out walking with a baby in a stroller. As the cat meows at her, the old lady next door will smoke a cigarette, and protest. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!” It is as if the lady is too polite to ignore the cat, but too overwhelmed to ask it any questions. Not that asking questions would be necessary to get this cat going.

She meows again and again. She will stop briefly if you pet her, but her manner will make it clear that she is only indulging you. There is something important you need to know. She meows and meows, as if insisting.

Could it be that, unaware of a leak that has filled his house with gas, Mr. Johnson has just sat down with the morning paper and is about to light his pipe? Could it be that Billy has been trapped by an avalanche and there is a large bear wandering nearby? Could it be that a flood has washed away part of Walker’s bridge and the family golden retriever, Nellie, is stranded on the other side with her puppies?

There is no telling.

Eating honey: As it bends the light reflected off the surface underneath, a slick golden tentacle of new honey curls off the larger bulk that has wrapped itself around a spoon.

A lost sock: Like a hieroglyphic, a tiny child’s sock soaked with rain sits atop a gate post, which serves as an impromptu lost and found. It will be frozen tomorrow morning, and then later will thaw in the sun of the afternoon. Its sole is dotted with white rubber traction spots which, when the sock is worn, would grip the world like squid suction cups.

Altitude: Listen to the racket of a hundred birds, the countless shapes and layers of fallen leaves. A balletic cry in the wilderness. The sharp beaks, wings working to gain precious altitude.