Ok, so, in the interests of full disclosure, I have to explain that I’m not afraid of lizards. I’m just not fast or dextrous enough to catch the little beggars. Don’t judge me.

At any rate, it got me thinking about perspective, and how much depends on it.

I saw a lizard in the hall,

Minding his business,

Bothering no one at all,

Until I came around the corner.

In his sideways eyes,

I’m a giant, dangerous, with mayhem in mind and

Blood on my hands.

Lizard blood most likely.

I can’t tell him that I’ve never intentionally killed a reptile.

He wouldn’t understand.

He doesn’t speak my language, nor I his.

All he hears is the doom bound portent of my clarion call,

Honey, there’s a lizard in the hall.

My husband comes in for a game of catch and release,

But again, the lizard doesn’t see freedom arriving.

All he sees are the flat boulders that close in

Trap, trap, trap, twice lizard quick,

And the dark that descends,

He feels the weightless fright of being carried in the dark,

Then suddenly released into the wind.

And he doesn’t understand that either.

He eats what he catches.

It’s a matter of perspective.

Our view is a limited one,

Colored by our expectations,

defined by what our senses take in,

restricted by what our experience can explain.

Things would be different for the lizard and I,

If our vision could align,

If I could step out, or he could step in,

We’d be calmer, wiser, more patient, perhaps.

Less violent, less angry, less fearful at that.

For its harder to fear what you do understand,

Without fear hatred withers and clarity gains command.

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