An entree to the pantheon

I wandered through the Botanical Garden for hours today, hours in which it did not rain, though meteorological sources claimed 90% certainty it would. The February air nipped at my fingers as I collected leaves for this project and that, but what was quite remarkable were the squirrels. The squirrels were following me around as if they knew me, following me for lengths of football fields and calling their brethren out from the shrubbery to join, as if we were in a circus, and I was their ringleader. Garden patrons commented in passing about the squirrel parade. At one point there must have been thirty of them teeming in the walkway, racing my direction. Thirty squirrels looking to me knowingly as if I was their queen, their god. I thought there must be some magic in it. I tried to think of a number I could dial on my cell phone that would ring and be answered by some familiar human voice to which I could relate the mystery of that moment, to make it somehow both more magical and more real. But my godliness seemed to fade as I struggled to determine the right number, and the squirrels, sensing it, disappeared among the leaves.