Hard life, this. The view from my writing station is pretty tough to take. Especially with all the distractions. Eagles calling on the river. All manner of marauding birds at the feeder. And the damned lizards. The tiny ones.

This is baby lizard season, a phenomenon that I don’t remember ever having seen in the 30 years I’ve been looking out this same window. Maybe the little guys are here because the roadrunners aren’t—those ground-dwelling cuckoos slurp the critters up as if they were four-legged popcorn. It’s a trade-off. Exit the fascinating birds, hello tiny guys.

Baby Eastern Fence Lizards. Look at your little finger; at the distance between top joint and fingertip. That length is longer than these babies are. Yet, they look exactly like the adults…down to the lizard-pushups they do to show how tough they are. I’ve only seen one, this morning, tipped off by increased cat-excitement. Where there’s one, there’s likely to be many. And every time I see one, I smile.

So, friends…apologies for an abbreviated post that’s barely about writing at all. I’m off to hunt for more lizards. And I promise to try to get back to work.

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