I call him “Waldo.” He blends in pretty well, don’t you think? Like a chameleon, this little guy can change colors. In fact, when we were kids we thought these lizards were chameleons, but they aren’t. This green anole has been enchanting me all summer as he hides in different plants on the porch. Mostly, he hides in the aloe vera plants, because I guess he has the change to bright green and dull brown (depending if he is on the healthy part of the plant or the part that’s dying) down pat.
He didn’t fall for it when I put the purple plaid tablecloth down on the deck, darn it. I didn’t tell you that I have a wicked sense of humor, did I? Bless his heart, that would have driven him plumb crazy. I should be ashamed of myself.
Waldo seems to be as curious about me as I am about him, because he has been known to sneak up on me to watch me. He gets bored quickly, because I am not very interesting. Right now, like my little anole buddy, I am just hiding in plain sight while pondering my next moves (or which insect I plan to pounce). I’m remembering an Asian proverb:
â€œA chameleon does not leave one tree until he is sure of another.â€
I suppose that’s true of anoles, as well— and perhaps it applies to a certain starving artist who doesn’t know which “tree” to choose. After two and a half decades of making my living as a storyteller, I’m loathe to let it go, but the poor economy is forcing me to change profession or at least to add another so that I can make ends meet. Along ’bout now, I feel as if someone put a purple plaid tablecloth down in front of me. I reckon that the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, too.
So, I’ll think on it some more, and then I’ll take a leap of faith.