amusing the muses

My muse is fickle.

I sat down last night to write a short essay about job thrills in Mexico.  And then I got distracted.  That is usually a sign certain that I am not ready to write.

So, I checked the pond for the Croc family.  Mama was there still waiting to midwife any additional hatchlings that may need assistance.  But no babies.  And no Papa Croc.  His role seems to be done in this cycle of life. 

But I was not ready to commiserate with Thalia.  Or is it Melpomene?  There were termites to search out.  None.  And leaf-cutter ants.  One scraggly line.

Having done my part to pretend I was controlling nature, I was locking up for the night and spotted an old friend -- a Mexican mud turtle.  Last June, in eight legs and a shell,. I wrote about the same (or a similar) turtle that was attempting to head out to the open road by way of my courtyard.

And last night I was offered a repeat performance.  Either this is a larger turtle or last year's model has grown.  It was trying to fit under the gate in my entryway.  But it was having no more luck than a fat man squeezing into a Denny's booth.

I have no idea what the turtle is doing out of the laguna.  But I have seen it several times in the past in the garden.  Last year, I found an egg that could very well have been left there by this nomad.  But it disappeared before it could hatch.  Probably eaten by the voracious house cat across the street.

I thought about giving the turtle a free ride back to the laguna.  But it seemed to have its own agenda in mind.  And I am doing my best to simply let the great nature opportunities around here take their own course.

With, of course, the exception of the termites and the leaf-cutter ants.  They are doomed to suffer my hubris.  The hubris that convinces me I can control just a small part of nature in my garden.

I am taking odds on just when the lesson in humility will have its climax.  And that certainly will be a Melpomene-inspired tale.