On the drive home this evening I saw a red-tailed hawk atop a light standard pulling feathers out of his evening’s meal. When I got home there were several fat squirrels in the back yard harvesting the stale bread Dennis had put out for them. He said they were Throckmorten, Braithewaite, and Filbert. Filbert’s the little one. I am astonished by how little awareness there seems to be of the discontent expressed by the “occupy” movement, of the movement itself, even as it grows. Nonetheless there is a sense of portent in my dreams lately, hope and portent.