Nature Red in Tooth and Claw

Reaping the Whirlwind

William Timberman8 Comments

The thing vicious narcissists like Donald Trump never seem to understand is that they aren’t any more bulletproof than the people whose blood they cry out for on a daily basis. I’m sorry he was a target today, and I’m glad early reports say that he’s okay, but I have to say I’m surprised it took this long for someone to open fire on him at one of his fascist rallies. Gunfire is, after all, the politics he encourages, at least as long as all the guns are pointed away from him.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how it’s ever worked. It’s a shame Donald Trump has had to learn that the hard way, if indeed he has learned it. Personally, I doubt he’s capable of learning anything, but I’m not sure it’ll matter much either way. The final acts of this particular American tragedy were written long before Trump had any real part to play in them.

Responsibility

William Timberman2 Comments

Another half-awake visitation:

The text is brief. “Leave now. Do not pack. Kids already in transit.” As I pass reception, an upturned face. “Madam Secretary…?”

“Out. Go Now. Everyone. Move.”

Three minutes forty-two seconds later a flash in the rearview mirror, followed by a sharp jolt transmitted through the suspension. A glance upward shows a column of dark smoke already rising where we all used to be.

Once I’m back under, I send a text of my own. “The warning was timely. Your attempt was not. My representatives will be with you shortly. If you’d rather not wait up for them, I’ll understand.”

After that, a drink. Then once more unto the breach, for now, as before, what we do is who we are. No more, no less.

The Lizard Brain

William Timberman1 Comment

I stepped out the back door this morning to light my pipe and promptly encountered a pale-green horned caterpillar, with black markings, about as long as my index finger and almost as thick, humping its way across the raised concrete walkway between the house and the garage. It lowered itself painstakingly down the step to the sidewalk and rippled onward toward the back yard. At that point a lizard dashed up to it, looked up at me, and dashed back out of view — a flick of lizard lightning which almost made me jump.

Absent-mindedly trying to honor the Prime Directive, I stepped back into the shadow of the garage, hoping to see without being seen. I should have known better. The lizard dashed up again, looked me directly in the eye and dashed back. The caterpillar continued humping slowly along, oblivious to its approaching doom. When the lizard deemed the relative distances between himself, the caterpillar, and me to be propitious, he dashed up yet a third time, neatly nipped off the caterpillar’s head, and dashed back to his hiding place under a sprig of rosemary beside the long wall of the garage.

The dying caterpillar’s reflexes coiled its body into a tight spiral. The lizard peered intently at me from under his rosemary sprig. I watched for a minute or so longer, hoping to see the final disposition of his prey, then relented and stepped back inside the house. When I went back out again an hour later, all evidence of the preceding melodrama had disappeared.

How does it go, Nature red in tooth and claw…? I suppose I should be grateful that there aren’t any tigers under the rosemary.