The past few mornings, those mornings which haven’t been overcast, I’ve awakened before dawn to see the moon glowing down at me through the skylight.

This must be a seasonal thing, like the one day a year when the setting sun comes into ancient tomb, or The Well of Souls (for Raiders of the Lost Ark fans), or straight down the Infinite Corridor (for MIT grads).

Also the past few weeks, each morning around dawn, flocks of birds seem to gather in a holding pattern over my apartment building, calling to each other and swooping around the Strip. Sometimes they sound like geese, the kind of migrating flocks everyone in this part of the country is used to hearing. Other times they are other kinds of birds, generally largish birds with coarse calls. Max heads to the window and stares up at them, now and then squeaking out his best imitation of their cries as if to tell them to come down and hang out for a while.

Each day, each week brings a new perspective on the new to me place I’m living. The trick seems to be taking the time to stop and look around, and appreciate the slight changes, not to get caught up in the hustle of keeping up with the dailiness of life.