Introduction
I am writing a series of blog posts
which may become a short book of daily meditations on the natural world. Some
of these entries began as short articles published in newsletters and
periodicals. Some began as performance pieces read or recited to live
audiences. In some cases, I learned the hard way how long is too long for a performance
piece. I also learned that the tolerance for lengthy pieces varies from one
audience to another in sometimes unpredictable ways.
Some
of the pieces were written as short essays and combined for submission to
journals as braided essays. Longer pieces are fine as essays, but do not work
well as orations, so I have unwound a few essays into component parts to create
the short meditations presented here and for use in performance art.
In
most cases I have included citations to places where the reader can find more
information. Use of these references is, of course, up to you, but I want your
experience of the pieces to be as much about you, the reader, as it is about
me, the author. I have also posed questions which you may view as a starting
point for your own meditation, an opportunity for rebuttal, or questions to be
ignored. A few people may view them as writing prompts. Posting them on my
blogs creates opportunities for reply.
Bull
’Gator’s Lament
What’s
that man lookin’ at, down here in this cypress swamp, so thick with branches
that the sun barely gets through? He’s lookin’ at me, Old Bull ’Gator, and I’m
lookin’ at him. Why don’t you come on
over for dinner?
Speaking
of dinner, you should have been here when I grabbed that turtle from his sunny
spot over there by the water hyacinths. When I broke through to meat, those
tourists thought a rifle shot had gone off. Fish, man, bird, or turtle, I get my
dinner.
Sometimes,
man eats us though. He’ll come down to this swamp and put a bullet in a
’gator’s brain. Those poachers don’t waste any time. They skin the ’gator out
right here and cut up the tail meat for Cajun delight. The hide gets made into
boots.
The
poachers never got me though. Bigger ’gators missed their chance too. I had to
be careful when I was young, because we've been known to eat our own. But now, I’m
king of this here swamp.
Springtime
is my favorite time of year, with Spanish Moss fluttering in the breeze, like
curtains in an old mansion house. That’s when I get to bellowing. My bellows
echo off the cypress trunks and all through the swamp. Those lady ’gator’s
bellow right back. When one of them judges Old Bull fit, we spin like two demons
in a whirlpool.
Pretty
soon, she will be building a nest out of mud and sticks. When the eggs hatch
that fierce old momma ’gator hears those young’uns grunting She gently pulls
the nest apart and tenderly frees the baby ’gators. That’s when she won’t want
Old Bull around, because we’ve been known to eat our own.
Maybe
I’ll just wonder off and watch those fishing boats go by. Perhaps one of them
will flip over. Man, fish bird or turtle, I get my dinner.
Look
over yonder at those little ’gators sunning themselves on their momma’s snout.
I believe one of them is a baby bull. He will have to grow some before he can
be king of my swamp.
Commentary:
Bull
’Gator’s Lament is a performance piece, generally well received by the
audience. It was once much longer and is now shortened to a length that works
better. I will continue to refine it as I present it at more venues. It is of
course, pure fantasy. For a factual look an alligator’s habitat, read Everglades, River of Grass by Marjory
Stoneman Douglass
For
the Reader:
Though
nature is sometimes portrayed in the cuddly realm of soft bunny rabbits and
downy goslings, predation is a day to day reality. Some animals are downright
frightening.
How
to you perceive the natural world?
Is
it a resource for the creation of wealth through extraction of such materials
as timber and coal?
Is
it a wilderness to be protected, or perhaps tamed?
Is
it a place of solace and healing?
Is it a frightening
place?
