Contemplating My Tribe No. 1
The crackle of night crickets and soft whistle of thrushie birds bring on the day. Sounds of substance induced all-night revelry so common here in this Caribbean paradise have given way to those of the island’s other residents.
I awaken thinking how much more I enjoy the company of wild animals than that of civilized beings here. This thought embarrasses me, as though I judge myself to be arrogant for even thinking such a thing. But it is the truth. I’d rather coexist with birds and insects if the choice is between them and partying humans.
Don’t misunderstand me. I belonged to that tribe once. Perhaps that’s the point. Only I never had fun partying, even though I did plenty of it. It seems that the alcohol I consumed made the human companionship bearable, that’s all. And also, it allowed me to fall asleep (read: pass out.)
The truth is, I’m just another woodland creature masquerading as a human being now that I don’t drink anymore- I’m not really a social animal like most others of the species. I’m more like an anole lizard. I have a turf I defend, and I interact, as I must to maintain it. Mostly I’m a loner and come together with others to mate, but at this point, that’s really just a form of recreation, not procreation.
Some have suggested that I might be a member of the arachnid clan, like the golden orb spider whose gilded web is suspended like an awning over the stone stairway to my cottage. Numerous suitors, all much smaller and secondary to her existence, attend her. Her web ricochets the brilliant fire of 24 karat when the sun hits it at just the right angle. At other times, it appears ordinary gray. You might say that the sparkle is in the eye of the beholder.
The golden orb’s suitors reside at the periphery of her web, waiting for the opportunity to mount her. She calls the shots in this arrangement. Her orb, when this trick of golden light is revealed, resembles Rumplestiltskin’s spun gold thread. This is where the similarities end, though. The spinner here is definitely not the miller’s daughter waiting to be married off.
© 2010, Jennifer Pierce, All Rights Reserved