There isn't a whole lot of traffic on my commute, but since the roads have only one lane in each direction, I can be slowed down or brought to a stop by a single lollygagging driver. It happens.
One day last week I passed a beautiful raccoon, which was preparing to cross the street. He (I presume it was a he, for no good reason) waited for me to pass, and he hesitated again as a car came from the other direction. He crossed safely, thank goodness. His legs were ink-dipped, as was his mask. He wore a thick winter coat, with a ruff to rival a lion's around his neck. He was remarkable, even at a glance.
This morning I saw an older guy with a long, white, mountain-man beard, dressed in a barn jacket with big, bold, black and red checks on it. He was by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. He was digging a tiny hole with a short, narrow shovel - the width of those used by electricians to dig trenches. I can't see any logical reason for someone to be digging a hole in this particular spot, but I'm sure he knew what he was doing.
I wish that I could have stopped to observe for awhile, or could have driven by again a few minutes later, but I had to press on. I'd love to know why he was digging. Was he a modern-day pirate digging for a lost cache of treasure? Hoping to transplant a scrub pine into his garden at home? Taking soil samples for a scientific study? Who knows. Just another vignette seen at a glance on my way to work. At least the drive has its compensations.