On the path up to the doorway of my workplace this morning I encountered a small presence, which I have since then concluded must have been a western fence lizard. I don't have much exposure to lizards. Well, the non-human kind, that is. I did not want to startle it, so I took a detour around it. Reading up on these things indicates that they are darker when they haven't gotten warmed up. It looked happy. Sunlight on the pavement.
It was shorter and thinner than a robusto cigar.
So less than five inches, fifty ring gauge.
Apparently common in California.
Often I find the personalities of animals more agreeable than human beings. More honest, less neurotic and psychopathic. Certainly during the work day those are the types of human being I often encounter. Quarrelsome old basket cases huffing stogies and stewing in their own funk, senile and often drunk-paranoid, in the back room, which is closest to the muddy salt flats upon which we'll chuck their corpses when they croak. The wild beasts might eat them, might take one look and sneer "this one is past its prime". They all are, my fine feathered friend, they all are.
I'm looking forward to winter, when pneumonia, gout, chronic acid indigestion, and sheer bitchy orneriness will cull the herd further. The salt flats are hungry. So hungry.
Until then, I'll try to get the local mountain lions and werewolves eating out of my hand.
And love the small creatures soaking up the sun warmth.
Here, lizard, lizard, lizard!
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