Oh great lizard, sitting in the sun on the root of a giant tree, I want to have your baby! With a glint in your eye, you observe me observing you. Yes, I have learned to dine with a napkin in my lap, not to stack plates, and to stand when a lady comes to the table. But you, oh great lizard, have millions of eons printed on your tiny reptilian brain. You gaze out upon the vast ocean, certain of your place upon the root, unperturbed by the fleeting worries of tomorrow. You live in the moment, feeling the sun soak into your scales, darting out your tongue to catch a fly, and then closing your eyes in quiet contemplation.
If I could only stroke the scales of your tiny head and treat you to a strawberry popsicle that you would lick with perfect satisfaction, your long tongue turning a bright red. But you, oh wise one, will not let me catch you, as you scamper into your hiding place between the roots. Why do you hide, my love, you know that we could marry and I could have your baby!
Our son would be equally comfortable sitting in the sun on the beach without a single thought in his brain as well as chatting amiably with society ladies at a cocktail party, politely bringing a fresh glass of Chardonnay to the lady dressed in pink with his claw dexterously wrapped around the stem of the wine glass.
