I was out taking photos of my Mother’s garden for her. She keeps some exotic things and tries to get photos so she can remember what they looked like from year to year and season to season.
Anyway, walking in the grass in my bare feet, I felt bumps and prickly things and the odd crunch from a seed pod of one kind or another. I began to think about what everything might be under my feet. How many bugs have I squished without even knowing, deep in the grass. How are the blades of grass one of the strongest things in the universe to be so fragile yet they stand up to gravity and can be walked and rolled all over and spring back up.
Then I thought about toads. How many toads are under my feet. You would never know if one had died in your lawn and become fertilizer in it’s own time. They wouldn’t take long to compost. Or, how many were already dead in your yard long before you ever lived there, long before you were ever born, long before people got the idea of having a manicured lawn or even keeping a garden for anything but essentials.
What about the very first toad to ever die? Not so far back as dinosaurs, but the toads as we know them these days. How did it die and was anyone there to notice? Did it get a long toad-life or was it swooped up soon after birth?
Word Grrls is my mad science experiment, my adventures with fame and world domination (politely). This is where I inspire people to create: invent mutations, cause change, bring colour into your world. Web writer since 1998. Find me on StumbleUpon , and Tumblr.
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