Friday, December 31, 2010

Snayle the saltwater snail

The journey led him through shell high moss.  Green and sticky the moss grabbed at his slimefolds like wanting children; Sticky green moss fingers demanding attention. Snayle slowly and deliberately pulled away winning countless battles of mossfinger tugs as he came closer to his final destination, water.  Water, glorious water, salty, warm and smelling of earth tones.
He slipped silently from moss to salty waves with a final futile tug of moss fingers at his tail. With every roll of slimefold the saltwater rose against his shell, higher until finally his waving feelers floated freely.
 "Blurp!" a small bubble left his shell of ballasted air. 
"How embarrassing," Snayle thought. "I do hope no one was looking." He swung his feelers in circles to measure his embarrassment.
Thankfully only a skittering school of whitefish, flashing paranoia as they swam by, were witnesses.
"Silly fish," Snayle thought. "The bite is off.  Our enemies are in deep water, far too warm to be here in the shallows."
And with a sigh he found his place among the mangrove roots, high tide in full swing. 
Just the way a Snayle liked it.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Ribbut the toad

"Mmmmmm...marsh flies. Delicious!" Ribbut swallowed with satisfaction.
How wonderful it was to be a ribbut in Lillyboo Marsh.
Growing up, he watched as a tadpole swimming in shallow side pools in Lillyboo Marsh, as his mother would effortlessly catch marsh flies all day.It wasn't fair really. "Fish in a barrel." the elder ribbuts would say during
dinner. Lillyboo plants were sticky with nectar all year round. Marsh flies were drawn to the sweet sap and thereby drawn to ribbuts!
Ribbut's tongue grew long and strong that season and about the time his tail fell off, he was ready to snatch marsh flies from the sky. He ate his first marsh fly three Springs back and to this day it's his favorite breakfast, lunch and dinner snack. Others could keep the dragonflits and flipbeatles.They lacked the crunch and zest of a marsh fly.
How wonderful it was to be a ribbut in Lillyboo Marsh.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

It's the little things...

“Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people.  It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life . . I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die.  The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

Anne LaMott dropped that pearl.

I haven't looked at my feet in a while thank you very much.  I gave that up for looking in the mirror with a big fat grin every morning. I grin because I know today is a day for me. I'll take that time and I'll embrace every moment to the best of my being.

It's the little things.  Those are tokens of the gods (however you may describe that to be). 

Seriously, look at time for a minute.  How old are you right now?  How much of that age have you spent on things that meant absolutely nothing to anything for anybody except maybe an idea you had in your head.  How much of that age were you living in the future, holding the hands of "if" and "when", walking down a tunnel unable to look right or left or even stop?

It's the little things.  Those are the tokens of time that meant something then and still mean something right now.

Curse perfection. Recognize the life of be.  BE.  Fearing a mistake is fearing life.  Fearing failure is fearing living.
Fearing in general is a supreme act of choosing nothing.  That's baggage filled with emotions you can't identify.  All baggage needs to be left at the baggage claim.  Let them rot. 

It's the little things.  It's the things you own, not owning you.  Or better yet, the things you own being given to people who have no things.  How many TVs do you need?  I say zero.  Why not?  Why not zero.  No TV means no perfection.  How else is a consumer created but by being told they are imperfect and need to escape their imperfection by purchase or by loosing oneself in "programming".  What an apt word.  It's just that and nothing more.

It's the little things really. Ever watch a creature be a creature?  Amazing stuff that.  They aren't worrying about being a perfect creature.  I don't see them concerned over what the other creatures are thinking about them.  You ought to watch a creature.
Dragonflies fill my area like clouds at certain times of the year.  Lovely red, blue or purple dragonflies. They seem quite content to be their size, shape and speed.  And they are lovely.

You should try making a mess of things once in a while.  I'm also pretty sure you'll have a ball doing it.  You've got a choice today.  It's an awesome simple choice.  You can laugh, or you can not.

Hang up on the next rude person who phones. 
Get lost. Get found.
Turn off the alarm, sleep longer and go into work late.  Tell them the truth.
Stop. Watching. TV. Forever.
Go. Stop. Listen.
Sleep on the wrong side of the bed, upside down.
Put up Halloween decorations in December.
Next time you eat at a restaurant.  Eat desert for dinner and then forget dinner.
Sit in the middle of your yard.  Close your eyes.  Listen.
Next time a wasp interferes and you go to swipe it.  Stop.  Watch.  Listen.

Life is bigger and simpler than they say it is.
Life is not as complicated as they want you to believe.
Life is short. It's the little things that count.

Get my point?