The Virtues of the Patient Lizard
by Tyler Berg
Somewhere in the desert, perhaps by the roadside of some far flung and desolate highway.
There is a lizard
He is plain and green, wholly lacking in a single notable feature outside of being a small green reptile in a hostile wasteland of rugged sand and omnipresent heat
The brutish sun wanes, lengthening the little beast's shadow until he towers over the cacti and and stone formations like some inky black dinosaur from time immemorial.
He scampers to and fro beneath that dying globe of glory, pretensions of urgency if the truth is to told, and why shouldn't it be? This little lizard has nowhere he need be, he is waiting.
Waiting for a succulent insect to trundle his way so that he may gorge his lizard belly on its sublimely crunchy body.
He waits without any concern of being late, he is already where he was intended to be, all is right for our little green friend.
He waits now for the sun to rise again, that he may warm his frigid blood against the toasty surface of a stone and rejoice in it.
Of mystery and ambition this little lizard is unaware, all things transpire accordingly in the microcosm of the world wherein this reptilian resides.
He will feast and die beneath the glaring gaze of the western sky, waiting patiently for what will come next
There is a lizard
He is plain and green, wholly lacking in a single notable feature outside of being a small green reptile in a hostile wasteland of rugged sand and omnipresent heat
The brutish sun wanes, lengthening the little beast's shadow until he towers over the cacti and and stone formations like some inky black dinosaur from time immemorial.
He scampers to and fro beneath that dying globe of glory, pretensions of urgency if the truth is to told, and why shouldn't it be? This little lizard has nowhere he need be, he is waiting.
Waiting for a succulent insect to trundle his way so that he may gorge his lizard belly on its sublimely crunchy body.
He waits without any concern of being late, he is already where he was intended to be, all is right for our little green friend.
He waits now for the sun to rise again, that he may warm his frigid blood against the toasty surface of a stone and rejoice in it.
Of mystery and ambition this little lizard is unaware, all things transpire accordingly in the microcosm of the world wherein this reptilian resides.
He will feast and die beneath the glaring gaze of the western sky, waiting patiently for what will come next
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Author's Note
This piece is something of a thorn in my side as I have long had a portion of it lodged in my brain, but upon my attempt to apply these thoughts to a barren expanse of empty space I found the results unsatisfactory, so please friends: read and critique to your hearts content. Presented as always without proper punctuation or editorial review.
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Somewhere on the continuum of consciousness, the lizard lives as it knows to live.
Patience. Something I have very little of. Thanks for the lesson.
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