Isn’t every season, no matter what we call it, shadow season?

Reporting live from inside a month-long rain cloud:

FULL SET ACRYLIC TOES (seen in the window of a nail salon).

Looking at my gory finger (I accidentally poured boiling water upon it last week), thinking about Yellowjackets.*

An entire family of starlings has moved into my yard, including a dozen juveniles who scream at each other as they compete to hog the bird feeder. Each day I watch them shove each other out of the way, gobbling the birdseed and plunging their beaks into the suet cake. Today there's nothing left to eat but still they stay, squatters in my back garden. (Very Werner Herzog voice) Their hunger is almost incandescent. Again and again the birds continue their instinctive struggle for survival, pushing aside their own kin.

A thought, several days after I wrote the above, days and days later, as I watch these same starlings continuing to assault my bird feeder: it's only a murmuration of starlings if they're forming mesmerizing, shifting cloud shapes in the sky. If they're noisy back yard interlopers, you can instead call them a vulgarity of starlings. Or a scourge of starlings. Or, most accurately and benignly, a clutter of starlings. 

Speaking of Werner Herzog, I happened to read this in an interview with him and it made me laugh out loud. Interviewer: "Is anything cute to you? Have you ever seen a dog and thought, 'That’s a cute dog?'" WH: "No. I would assign a dog a different word."

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*If you know, you definitely know