Trying to learn to do 8 angle pose, probably the hardest pose I've tried. First have to wrap one leg behind my head and 'rock it into place like adjusting a backpack strap' as one instruction site said. Easier said than done. Anyway, not there yet by a long shot but know it's doable. Unlike some of the asanas I attempt. Don't like age preventing me from doing things but there are some poses that are just beyond me, usually having to do with extreme crunching of the spine. I can do The Wheel and The Mermaid but I can't do Dancers pose when one foot is captured by both hands. Maybe next lifetime.
I've become a killer over the past few days. It's not something I like doing but it's necessary to prevent suffering. Each day while walking the dogs I find large gravid praying mantis, equally large grasshoppers and dragonflies which have been the victims of cars. They are still alive but dying, sand and gravel adhering to their burst abdomens. Dying slowly is one thing but being devoured alive by black ants is quite another. So I step on them, grinding them into the road so that they are unrecognizable. This may seem a bit of ... overkill but after stepping firmly on the first praying mantis it was still waving it's legs around when I removed my shoe. Now I don't take any chances. Slam and slide.
One of the most delightful creatures commonly seen on these summer afternoon walks are mountain katydids. Their humped dusky black bodies, long spiky legs and mushy rabbit like profiles are unusual enough but the real prize is when they are gently stroked and they pop up their wing covers like mickey mouse ears to reveal an electric blue bordered by black bordered by deep red striped abdomen. The females are flightless and so at risk of being skittled by traffic. I always pick them up by one of their *ears* and remove them to the verge.
Some of them I can save. Many things I can't. There is a ditch which collects rainwater after a good storm. Season after season frogs lay eggs in this ephemeral pond. If it continues to rain it might hold water for weeks but in the end it always dries up before the tadpoles have a chance to turn into frogs. Past seasons we've gone down with buckets and scoops and rescued the tadpoles. Tadpole Rescue, almost as successful as our homegrown Gecko Rescue. Not sure whether we've rescued frogs or cane toads, we take them to our dam (also ephemeral but usually lasting through a season) and release them. This year we haven't done tadpole rescue. Our dam isn't full and putting the tadpoles in the creek is risky. The first lot would've drowned in the creek run we had after Cyclone Marcia dribbled her way past. The second lot, this lot, won't survive the drying dying of the creek. Nevertheless, on the way home yesterday I reached down and scooped as many as I could get from the mud and carried them to the creek. I think there were five. They were mottled like cane toads once the mud had washed off them. So they have a chance. The others will be dead by now.
As I walked home feeling guilty rather than exhilarated, my actions reminded me a little of the book, The Bridge Over San Luis Rey. In it a bridge collapses and the people on the bridge died. The whole premise of the book is why did those people die? What about the ones about to cross the bridge and the ones who had just crossed? Why not them? So from the tadpoles point of view, a gigantic hand comes down and scoops up a handful of clay mud. Tadpoles one through five survive, the others are doomed. Tadpole philosophy. Has no more answers than human philosophy.
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