A Meditation

There are two kinds of visitors to the Reptile House that I really don’t like.

The first kind gets annoyed or even insulted when the subject of the exhibit is not immediately visible, as if the fact that these animals are given some room for privacy in their very small enclosure is an affront against visitors in general and this visitor in particular. S/he will then abruptly move on, complaining all the while about what s/he didn’t see.

The second kind realizes that there’s a certain challenge involved in spotting some of the more cryptic reptiles and amphibians—but that’s all s/he realizes. S/he’ll take the time to find a snake, say, and will point it out triumphantly to whomever s/he’s with—but that’s it; the game’s over, and s/he dismisses the animal without another glance.


I acknowledge that there are certain reptiles—some of the snakes, especially—that don’t really hold my attention for very long, often because they’re immobile and/or only partially visible. But I’ve never thought that this was because of some failing on the animal’s—or zoo’s—part, nor have I felt the need to scoff at the animals or treat them as my adversary in a game of hide-and-seek—and acted as if they had no value once I’d found them.

Thus I am better than those jerks.

{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}