THE LIZARDS

In the shrubbery along the walkway to work there lives a reptile. He is not threatening, being only about five inches long, and is not intent on harm. When it's sunny in the morning I see him warming up on the concrete berm. Immobile, probably so the crows don't see him. Happy. Placid.

So far, I've seen a wider spectrum of wild life there than in San Francisco. Perhaps our crazy people scare them away. The crazy people at work are not as potentially violent or unstable, if you ignore what comes out of their diseased mouths when they're huffing stogies and discussing politics or modern medicine, about which they have unique opinions.

Most lizards do not have any thoughts about those subjects.
I suspect that the heat seeking reptile doesn't either.
At worst, he's an adherent of Rand Paul.
Because bugs. And crawlies.

When he has finished sunning himself, he goes home. He's probably a bachelor, as there is no evidence of a family. And I'm just assuming it's a he, but truth be told I haven't a blessed idea, as I am not an expert on the gender of reptiles smaller than a juvenile human.
The reptiles in the backroom are all male. And often vocally so.
They are larger than a juvenile human.

As you can probably guess, I often think of our reptilian friends and fellow citizens while at work, as I happily, placidly, puff my pipe. Three bowlfulls today. A Dunhill shellbriar, a Castello of a very English shape, and a Comoy sandblast prince. By the middle of the afternoon I was high as a kite on the tea I had swilled -- five cups of it -- and the zoo seemed so very far away. Marin, as you know, is where the wild things are. Bat country.


When I got home my shoulders and lower legs ached, and I fixed myself a cup of coffee.
I've enjoyed some of Neil's excellent shortbread in lieu of dinner.
And put on a warmer garment, as it's gotten colder.

Life is now exceedingly good.

I am not a lizard.

But I could be.



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