midday musings

my eyes are always drawn outside, to the green and yellow and brown and blue world around me.

today, like many days when i am supposed to be studying, it is the birdbath that i am focused on.

small and round and brown, a little dusty from pollen and old oak leaves, it is less than halfway full.  the zika patrol has us nervous about any still pile of water around–even the small pot with a dying plant that is begging for me to drill even just one small hole in the bottom to help drain out the past week’s downpours.

the birdbath is no different.  i like leaving it full, but lately am letting it mostly dry up before refilling it.  the birds don’t mind; they carefully step their little triangular feet from rim to water’s edge, pecking tiny sips from what remains of the latest thunderstorm or saturday hose.

on this friday, i notice something different on the birdbath: lizards.  my small eyes are usually overly excited about the aves and end up overlooking anything smaller than a blue jay or mockingbird, but today i notice one of the biggest lizards i have ever seen [and living in florida, that is saying something].  it creeps up to the water, with caution and intent, and waits.  after deciding there’s no danger–or maybe thirst overrules–the lizard pokes the tip of its mouth into the water and drinks.

at this, i am fascinated.  not only have i never slowed down enough to watch a lizard drink water before, but i am noticing that its movements, its posture, its process mimics that of a bird almost exactly.  the up and down dip of the head, the small sips and quick swallows, the tiny bobs of the throat.  all of it.

and maybe that’s all of us.  maybe none of us–bird, lizard, dog, human–are that different from one another.  not really.  we all share the earth, we all touch the earth, we are all here together as part of some bigger Universe and we all have an impact, no matter how small.  we all have our nests, our packs, our idea of what could possibly, maybe be our purpose while we are here.

the lizard doesn’t stay long, but there is another one just a few minutes later to follow suit.  it is a reminder to me to open my eyes wider.  sometimes it is the littlest things that teach us the biggest lesson of how we are connected.

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