The Lizard and the Coyote
From Fall to Spring, the temperatures in Arizona are a nice break from the scorching summers. During my work hours, I prefer to be away from my desk and sitting under our canopy in the backyard working on the laptop and watching birds visit our fountains. In the mornings the sun rises to my rear and shines on me through a small section, so I set up an umbrella (one of those with a heavy base so it's a slight pain in the ass to move) to block the sun during that time.
November 24th, 2020, was no different than any other day. Woke up, dispensed treats to the cats, grabbed a cup of coffee, and set up outside. As the work day dragged on, I could feel the dark cloud beginning to envelop me; I was getting more and more wrapped up in my head; feelings of inadequacy, sadness, frustration, boredom (the list goes on) started to set in. At the time, I paid little attention to these feelings, but I recognized they were present so in an attempt to combat them, I put in the ear buds, fired up some music, and focused on just one work task at a time.
In the early afternoon, the wind picked up and provided a cool, but welcomed breeze. Every so often I'd hear this irritating scraping noise (which I later discovered was the wind rocking the umbrella back and forth, causing the umbrella to rub against the fence). I was listening to music so I only heard it between songs or when there was a quiet section and did not feel like getting up, so I let it be.
Greater Earless Lizard, peeking over a rock at me; this is not the lizard mentioned in the post but the same type.
At some point, I stopped listening to music (probably after returning from one of the many coffee-induced trips to the bathroom) and decided to put the umbrella away. I lifted it up off the ground and onto the sidewalk (where I have to place it to block the sun requires it to be uncranked away from the canopy), cranked the handle to retract the umbrella, and tied it up. When I set it back on the ground, I noticed a lizard slowly crawling to safety. My first thought was, how odd that the lizard was crawling so slowly, they're usually quick. Upon closer inspection I could tell that the lizard was injured and covered in ants. I then realized it must have been trapped under the umbrella, likely squished during the umbrella's rocking back and forth from the wind.
I left it alone.
But the longer I left it alone, the more it nagged at me: it needed help and I didn't know what to do. I figured at the very least I could remove the ants and place it somewhere safe & comfortable (not sure what a lizard considers comfortable, so I used my best judgment). I put on a pair of gloves and gently placed the lizard in my palm. I then carefully "encouraged" the ants to fuck off and relocated the lizard to our Elemental Pit in the care of Sven, our garden Viking.
Sven, our multi-talented, kindhearted, garden viking.
At this point in the day, I was done working and got ready to go for a hike. During my drive to the trailhead, my thoughts were shared between the lizard and the unexpected emotions I was having regarding aforementioned lizard. I realized that instead of feeling sad and responsible for the lizard's injury, or worse, I could see this encounter as something positive; a subtle, but effective reminder of the fragility of life. More specifically, to get out of my own head.
The hike was just going to be a slow-paced stroll on some familiar trails. The goal wasn't to achieve a record pace or rack up a large number of miles but instead, to just peacefully wander and be in the moment. I had my DSLR and 360 camera at the ready (as usual). But, about 2 miles into the hike, I had an odd encounter with a coyote.
One of the many coyotes I frequently see on my hikes; not the coyote mentioned in the post
I say odd because even though I've seen coyotes while out hiking, I had never been this close. The fairly large coyote crossed the trail roughly 15 feet ahead and stopped to look at me. I briefly considered reaching for my camera and snapping a few photos, but disregarded that thought so I could instead just enjoy the encounter. After a few moments of awkward silence (and little movement on my part), the coyote continued on its way, frequently stopping to look back at me as if it was reassuring me & reminding me that everything will be OK.
Once it was out of sight, I resumed my hike and for the rest of the hike, I pondered that encounter with the coyote and recalled how numerous times I've left the house feeling down & depressed only to have nature provide a much needed distraction and a shine a light through the dark cloud.
Nature has an uncanny way of setting my mind right.
