Month: September 2017

I know many people find reptiles off-putting and nasty to the point where there is even a specific phobia associated with this fear: Herpetophobia. There seems to a phobia to cover every fear and I was going to make a joke here about being afraid of fear itself, only discover that Phobophobia is an actual THING. I mean, who knew? I myself have a growing sense of dread over the very existence of the *word* Phobophobia, which itself may be also be a fear but I am too frightened to consider that possibility. I will stop now since the mind can only handle so much meta.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, reptiles. Privately I have always been fascinated by our coldblooded brethren and have enormous respect for their place in the food chain. I always leave them be when I find them outside the house, even snakes, most of which are completely harmless to humans. Last year I inadvertently cut a green snake in half whilst hedging. His protective mimicry was just too good, and I would not have known until I saw the bright red against all the green. I felt bad then even though my actions were not willful; to stop such a beautiful creature living in harmony with nature.

A few weeks after this I came across a skink dangling from a spider’s silken web, seemingly still a part of the food chain though perhaps not quite in the way he imagined. I tapped him and was surprised to see that he was still alive. I carefully unwound him from his silken cage, took him to the woods and let him go. I expect the spider was not appreciative of my actions, but in my small way I thought to balance my cosmic debt and give back that which I had taken, out there in the living world, under an incandescent sun.

On my evening walk around the neighborhood I pass many homes, large or modest, new or weathered. Most of the time I see them as objects along the path, like trees transformed into places of glass and iron and slate. Cars lay dormant outside, potential energy patiently awaiting the need for kinetics. But they are afterthoughts; necessary add-ons proving that, like bees, we still hunt and gather at the known places.

The other night I began to think about the doors of each house and the people inside and the stories they make. We know the myriad measure of our own lives, both behind our doors and inside our heads. But every door of every house we walk past contains the histories of us, small portals into the endlessly evolving mosaic that is humanity. The pictures on the walls, the boxes full of memories, the conversations and phone calls, the unused appliances under the sink, the awards; all combine to weave the tapestry of days.

This seems obvious now that I write it, as good things often are.  Sometimes the deepest mysteries can be overlooked, like the doors that whisper their secrets into the night air.

The word “chitchat” is sort of a cool looking little thing, just hanging around the water cooler and reading the weather reports. No one really *likes* small talk but it does provide a certain amount of comfort in new social situations – a place to go when those awkward silences stretch off to the horizon.

I, for one, am ill-equipped to wield the small talk gift of gab, maybe because I only have so many words I want them to count. This desire for meaningful conversation sometimes makes me too blunt and direct (aka: rude), like some people get after one too many, except I am saying these things completely sober. After watching the strained body language and darting eyes, my only excuse is to say “I am terrible at social graces!” followed by some nervous cackling, which has the snowball effect of causing all molecular motion to cease.