Tuesday, March 20, 2007
It's about this time of year, when the thunder is heard in the distance, like a car hitting the side of your house. It comes crashing up suddenly on a day when you thought it might rain but just weren't sure. Those are the early spring days that you like to go out and dig. The ground is soft from the rain last night and the glare doesn't hurt your eyes.
It's a gentle sort of day, but an unpredictable one. It's like a lover you know you should drop but can't. Because they are usually so pretty or sweet or kind. But you're never quite sure when they are going to go apeshit on you and punch a hole through the living room wall. That's the sort of day you find spring lizards.
And you never know where you will find them. They are special that way and you uncover that wet clammy earth with your shovel and there it is. All red and black and shiny.
Belated you worry that you have hurt it. You wonder if the shovel nicked it and you are always a bit afraid that the shovel has cut it in two. So you pick it up, expecting to find a soft, wet, pliant body. But it's not any of those things. It's sinuous and strong and if you aren't careful it will bite you.
And that's just how it is with spring lizards. It's how it is with some people, too.
When I was a child, my big brother and I would go down to the spring house to find them. I would squat on my haunches and look under rocks for them. The harder you looked the less likely you would find one. Salamanders, they are, and love the damp places under rocks. They don't like the light.
The light shows them in all that red, black and shiny truth.
I'd gather some watercress to take back to grandmother for sandwiches made on salt-rising bread with mayonnaise so as not to go back empty-handed.
And that's just the way it is with spring lizards. And some people too.
They just aren't what they seem.
