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Posted February 16, 2003
A few weeks ago the rains came, and not without warning. And yet one morning I risked walking to work, despite ominous clouds and Cassandra weathermen. By night it was pitch dark and a downpour. Rather than hitch a ride, or call for one, I put on my widest hat and slickest coat and began walking. The cost of walking, I told myself, is sometimes a little water.
The cost that night, however, was more than a little water. But the benefit was something other than mere exercise and the bolstering up of a solitary walker's pride.
The air was warm as well as wet: there was no chill. The rain pounded asphalt, leaves, mud; it shot into standing water; it fell upon stately roofs and homely woodstacks; and it beat like a percussion orchestra, echoing through the valley, accompanied by an enthusiastic and virtuoso frog concert.
The trick, when walking at night, is to use the flashlight as little as possible. On the whole, the light should be off as long as possible. Itıs good to save batteries and train the eyes to night vision. Warn off cars, when necessary; find the road again, when the path vanishes. At the base of one hill I flicked the switch, momentarily having lost my way . . . and there before me were two salamanders, wiggling across the road.
I don't see salamanders often, so it was worth a moment's pause, even with the rain fixing my clothing closer to my skin. I shined the light at one salamander, and then at the other, a few inches away. And I noticed something odd: the first sidled towards the light now shining on the second.
I moved the light a little to the front and opposite direction of the inquisitive salamander; again it squiggled into the halo. So I directed the beam a bit further out of its chosen, diagonal path across the roadway. Like a soul in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, it went into the light. Curious, I headed it off the other way. And still it followed.
Every life has many firsts; as you age, the pleasant firsts become fewer. I smiled as I realized that this moment was my first time herding salamander.
And then I moved on. I left the pair to scuttle off to whatever dry Ark or wet Utopia they sought. For my part, it was good to know that it is possible to train a salamander.
Usually on my walks it's mammals and birds that catch my attention: 'possum, chipmunk, hawk, woodpecker, cat, dog, rabbit, crow. But after parting from the salamander that night, the only other animal to cross my path was a frog, somehow separated from his choir. It was a night for amphibians, I thought.
And I thought it again when I got home and peeled off layers of wet clothing. Yes, it was a night for amphibians. I'm glad I wasn't alone.
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