I refer to the geckos (or are they salamanders?) that live in the brush near my room as my congregation, picked up from reading Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent (a story about well-educated grocery clerk who works in a store that his family once owned, the protagonist had a habit of addressing the goods as he stocked the shelves).
I left my room briefly tonight to return hangers to the staff laundry and to dipose of an empty Cheez-It box. There were quite a few round rocks strewn about the walkway. Then one greeted me. I scooped him and his neighbor up, as they were the largest, and would likely photograph the best.