Spent an hour or two on our “treehouse” deck thirteen feet up, among three lovely maple trees in the backyard, readying Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. A cautious but curious squirrel scampered within four or five feet of me, held eye contact, disappeared, then reappeared a couple of times, chittering what was probably either an introduction or a dismissal. After a cordial lapse of time, he went back to his nest, and I to mine. I wonder if he considered me an outlier.