Camouflage

A tiny spot of movement catches my eye this morning, and I spy a 2 ½ inch gecko frozen in the shade on our block wall. His tiny arms and legs are spread-eagle and his miniscule toes secure him firmly to the concrete. As I look at my paper to write about him and then look back, he disappears. I now see his minute head and eyes peaking at me, shy but curious, around a corner of wall.

Dropping to the ground, he is indistinguishable from the gravel; his presence betrayed only by his movement. And now I’ve lost him completely.

About Wendy Fallon

By day I am a technical writer, and by night and on weekends I am an artist and creative writer. Having lived in Phoenix, AZ with my husband Tim for 23 years, I find the urban wilderness in which we lived to be endlessly fascinating. Our home was tucked up against South Mountain, the largest city park in the U.S. The canal slashing across the base of the mountain provides inspiration for paintings, drawings, and sitings of wild coyotes, skittering fluffs of newborn quail, lizards and constant change.
This entry was posted in Fine Art, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s