Fair Weather Lizard
Wrestling a trellis, tendrils of jasmine clinging to neighboring greenery over the fence, I find myself eye to eye with a lizard. Sunning on the fence in the morning rays, he blinks his tiny, drowsy eye and I blink mine. We are so close that I admire the white scales of his neck. How like a delicate fur they appear, shapely and fine. I long to reach out and stroke his beautiful head. Restraint is called for. If I aim to demonstrate affection, then I must do this on his terms, give him space, speak kindly, blink back at his dark eyes, move calmly.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, “I didn’t see you there. I’m just trying to help this jasmine.” Indeed, the trellis has no contact with the earth, dangling, ensnared in the green twists of vine. The plant is supporting it and not the other way around, and now the trellis threatens to fall, dragging the plant with it.
“Will you please keep an eye on this for a minute?” I ask the lizard, who says nothing before I go. I rush to the house for some floral tape. When I return, I am stung to find that the lizard has abandoned his post and with it, our budding friendship. He’s nowhere to be seen. Alone, I use the floral tape to attach the trellis to the fence as planned. It’s a temporary fix, but it’s all I’m prepared to do today.
Please like this post or subscribe to Jellied Gold. I publish three paragraphs once weekly, so if you haven’t already…