Skip to main content

New blooms

I thought, at first, that it was dead. It was just laying there in the grass. Even when my dog almost stepped on it, it didn't move. Even when she almost pooped directly on top of it, it didn't move. Even when she started kicking dirt all over the place, it didn't move. I was also surprised she didn't notice it.

But there in the grass was a huge horned lizard.

As I stared down at it, an ant crawled across its eye. I squatted down to get a closer look and, indeed, there crawled a tiny black ant across the lizard's eye. I was sure, then, that it was dead but then its eyelid moved, trying to squeeze the ant's prying mandibles away. Still, my dog didn't notice it laying there. But I was fascinated. It blinked a few more times before the ant finally gave up trying to get into its eye and crawled across the lizard's scaly face toward its nostril. The lizard opened its eye and we both watched the ant try and crawl its way into the lizard's nose, but the ant was too big to fit.

I watched the lizard for a while more, waiting for its tongue to dart out and grab the ant but the moment never came. The ant continued crawling all over the lizard's mouth and the lizard continued to lay there in the grass, apparently unconcerned by the trespasser. And I couldn't help but wonder why this lizard, who was clearly alive, wouldn't just eat this ant that was actively trying to crawl into its mouth.

I came to realize that, maybe, I was the problem.

Maybe the lizard was less concerned with eating the ant than worrying about my intentions as I loomed over it. And as we walked away, leaving the lizard and ant to their own lives, I wondered if maybe that was the key I'd been missing lately.

Sometimes you can't just expect things to happen. Sometimes you just have to walk away and trust that what you're sure will happen, will happen. Sometimes a horned lizard and an ant need space.

Sometimes if you want to tell a story, you have to find other stories to tell.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Somewhere in the universe.

"I recognized you from way over there." She said. We traversed the last few steps between us. I could hardly wipe the smile from my face. "Your face got wider," she added. "Whiter?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious. "Wider." She said. We embraced, again. "It's good to see you," she said. "How's it going?" I asked. "Good." She said, releasing me. She smiles again. I return the smile. "How are you?" I'm five years ago.

"I'm great."

As I walked away from the studio, through the abandoned construction site, I thought about it. The tower of the Children's Hospital I'd become so familiar with loomed in the distance. I'm tired of losing friends, especially the ones that really matter. It was the only thought that crossed my mind as I walked home.

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge.

In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old.

It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We can …

Like the river, I been running ever since.

I am running with a purpose. I have a mission. The pavement is unforgiving under my heels. There is no comfortable roll in my stride, only a dull thud and a rebound. I ignore it. These shoes are not made for running. In fact, as I understand it, they are not made for many things beyond walking and fashionably lounging. These shoes were designed with limitations. I can't help but cringe at the word. Limitations. I hate the word. No, the concept. The idea of it. A limit. A boundary. An innate disadvantage. I am sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. It seems to be the same spot every time. Light from the window strikes the floor just beyond my feet. I stare ahead at the opposite wall. It is familiar. Not too much so, though. I can almost see the exact spot I always start staring at. He sits at his desk, staring at the computer. A mix of work and personal indulgences litters his screens. There is constant white noise. The scrolling of the mouse. The steady clack of the keyboa…