The Prince and the Grasshopper

Linda Braga, San Leandro, CA

On the occasion of my nephew’s graduation from college, I stayed at an artist’s home in southern California up in the Hills of Mount Baldy. Amid cactus and desert palms, it is California desert country at its finest. Upon arriving, I noticed a wonderful open patio area that would be perfect for T’ai Chi practice. And so it was.

Early the next morning I quietly arose and crept outside before anyone was awake and began my practice. At first, there was only a cool stillness as the morning light slowly emerged. Then, one by one, they came.

First came Prince, a large ferocious looking Doberman. He pushed open the door and came and sat right near me, facing the sunrise. He sat perfectly still except for occasional sideways glances up to me to see if it was OK to stay.

Next came a three-inch brown grasshopper who landed on the patio to the left of me, and also faced the sun. Then a fuzzy bumblebee buzzed by and hovered near some cactus, while a noisy hummingbird fed from tall purple flowers. Two geckos hung upside-down on a rock wall and watched. A small, completely-round vole peeked out from under a rock pile, gave a little squeak, then disappeared. Ants made a congo line around my feet and carried on their relentless march, back and forth, back and forth.

There must have been others, too shy to show themselves completely or preferring to watch from a distance as I made slow, circular movements on that patio, my nightgown rustling softly in the breeze. The Prince and the grasshopper both stayed in the same spot for the whole practice. About one hour! The others came and went in their early morning ritual.

I shall always remember that practice for its quiet desert beauty and especially for the company of two very different species, the Prince and the grasshopper.