Crocodile Fears

My Friends,

A Reptilian Tale

Looking back, I remember the day well. I was skipping rocks near the water’s edge, when I spied two bulbous sockets breaking the liquid plain. Parting the waters like a submersible vessel, her massive crocodile body rose up. Her head cocked slightly as she surveyed my posture. I held the nonthreatening pose of a seaside pelican. She promised not to eat me for lunch if I promised to be a good listener. We both agreed.

I sat on a limestone shelf – one toasted by the morning sun. I leaned in close to her large triangular head. Her rows of teeth brought to mind the alien pillars of Bryce Canyon. I recalled how I’d been more enamored by Utah’s stalagmite forms than all the grandness of the Grand Canyon. I was surprised when her putrid breath hit my face. I didn’t wince, for those cold melancholy eyes kindled my reptilian compassion.

She sighed or snorted through her surface nostrils then whispered why she was brooding. Her words confounded me. She wanted – or that is – desperately needed to share her miraculous beauty secret. I didn’t know crocodiles held vanity in high regard. Expecting to pen an extensive list, I licked the tip of my blue ballpoint and flicked over the spent pages of my pocket-sized notepad. I sat pumped at the edge of my toasty rock. This astounding, fifteen-foot, two-hundred-year-old reptile appeared primed to live two-hundred more years, I suspected she must possess a powerful cosmetological recipe. I was certain, minerals and plant wraps would be involved.

Then that ancient reptile with rows of murderous teeth and callous gold eyes confessed to me that she’d been cheating death. I leaned in closer, my Bic hand sweating. She said humans had it all wrong and that crocodiles did most definitely shed tears, in fact, they shed many. It was tears that escaped her yellow eyes when her children were taken. It was fear that had frozen her ancient heart, when her bold sons and brazen daughters became pricey stilettoes and elite attaché cases.

Before sinking back into the dark water she whispered her beauty secret to me. “Beauty is submerging your body in quiet bubbles. Beauty is water changing from aqua to deep blue as the orange sun burnishes the wavy surface. Beauty is living two-hundred years and hoping to live two-hundred more.”

I watched the silent trail of delicate foam disappear along with her brown, wrinkled form. I never saw her again. I did not pen her beauty secret in my frayed notepad.
crocMay you dream beautiful dreams when you’re two-hundred years old.

Croc rendered last week with Tombow markers, a little white acrylic paint, a touch of Prisma pencil and lots of coffee. 🙂

 

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Tinhood and More Blogtox

Dear Friends,
It’s quite entertaining to have one’s head filled with mindless mist. While ‘trolloping’ about the Musing Moss of the Foggy Forest today, I bumped into a new friend. Tinhood as she calls herself, has agreed to assist me. Tinhood who knows the Foggy Forest like the back of her bolts, suggests dropping strategic breadcrumbs to help me navigate out. Hopefully, she doesn’t spill the oil from her basket-can or the antifreeze from her little red bandana in the process, ’cause that would be bad.

TInhood

Oh, by the way – my blogtox injection didn’t take. I like the clean redesign of this blog, but I’m faltering behind the dashboard wheel. My airplane is not flying true. Lest I crash into a mountainside, I’m going for another blogtox procedure.

Lion Dreams

Lion Dreams

I don’t have the aptitude, nor the pilot’s license to be self-hosted. I must guide my wobbly craft back to WordPress and it’s beautiful landing field.

Blogtox

Blogtox

Thank you. May you dream of candy airplanes and marshmallow clouds…

Tinhood came out of the forest two days ago. Clion and Blogtox are old pros.
Countdown to blogtox injection and return to WP – 2 days…

I Naturally

Dear Friends,
Well, my blogtox injection must wait until this coming weekend. Such are plans…

I share with you an illustration from my college years. I created this stylish gal for a Corporate Identity Class. After the completion of my coursework, I Natural Cosmetics, offered me a job. I accepted. I worked in ‘their’ mall store during my junior year. The manicurist applied long, red acrylic nails on my fingers and my hair was teased to the hi hats. I sold ‘Clinique’ like cosmetics and did makeovers. I learned a very important lesson that year; Young girls want to be slathered in obvious makeup, but older women want to look like they aren’t wearing any. Who knew?
Ah, the wrinkle-free skin and wrinkle-less grey matter of youth 😉

I NaturallyThank you. May you all dream of mature minds and youthful skin 🙂
(Oil Pastel – this illustration is 30 years old – she needed a touchup too)