Eeek!

Some weeks ago, as you are reading this, but actually right now, as I am writing it, I was/am sitting on the dock enjoying one of a run of beautiful days we are having here in Florida where the temperature is in the 70s and the humidity is low.

I love that I get to spend this part of my life sitting on a dock, in sunshine or shade as I choose, surrounded by water and birdsong (and the occasional spider—but that’s a small price to pay), with WiFi that reaches far enough that I can be online.

I’ve always had a little trouble just sitting outside enjoying nature without a book or something.  Those spiders get more obtrusive—to say nothing of ants—when you don’t have something to occupy your mind.

So, it’s hard to say, on a day like today, which is the greater miracle.

Is it the low temperature?  Is it the low humidity?  Is it the cloudless sky?  The glassy smooth water?  The recently mown lawn?  The internet access?  The birds?

Is it…could it be…even remotely possibly…the two alligators that just swam past me?

There is certainly a part of my brain that votes for the “swam past” part.

I’m glad they’ve gone on.  I’m glad they didn’t come any closer than they did.

But, seriously, in NYC, I rarely got sudden and unexpected reminders that human beings share this planet with other species.  The occasional pigeon, yes.  The unpleasantness of rodents and insects, sure.

I’m not saying alligators are pleasant.

But they’re different.

As a child, I got to entertain my friends with the story of the three-legged alligator that would come up out of the swamp to be fed hamburger in my grandmother’s yard.

Now, the sudden splash in the middle of the creek could be a mullet or a manatee.

Or an alligator.

So, you know, it turns out my house isn’t just named after the little anoles and geckos and skinks.

Casa Lagarto.

It’s also named after those two big reptiles floating on down the creek.

El lagarto.

Ellagarto.

The alligator.

Not everybody has one—let alone two.