Young humans among the green bulbs, my schoolmate at her family avocado farm, her mother back in the Airstream making lemonade. I see movement, then stillness— a baby lizard, its elbows balanced on a lichen-splattered rock, scales scattered with rust and sage, an ink-brushed collar of two black strokes. I snap carefully as it poses, and never imagine this roll that will return as twenty-four blurred fingertips. Twenty-four fingertips returned, a blur of never-posed rolled imagination as I carefully snapped the black strokes— two collars of ink-brush on sage and rust, rock-scattered, lichen-splattered, balanced on elbows—the stillness of a baby lizard. I saw then movement, lemonade- making, her mother’s back to the Airstream at the avocado farm, my schoolmate’s family, young green humans among the bulbs.
Photo by Erik Karits from Pexels