For at least two years, a Kendall's rock gecko (or its successors) has lorded over three trees' worth of territory by the trail at Venus Drive. The reptile usually makes itself scarce in the day, when scores of strollers pass its patch on their way to more scenic walks. In their haste for grander heights, few are likely to spare the time or thought to scan these lowly trunks for small rarities or attempt to tell apart shy lizard from a smorgasbord of lichen.
An unknown predator had caused the lizard to shed its spiny tail some months earlier. The gecko laid low for a while and was spotted mainly during nocturnal hunts for magic mushrooms. But of late, the creature (assuming it's the same individual) appears to have regrown its pride and banded joy, and now hangs head-down at its usual haunt. A tell-tale contrast in shade suggests a second-hand nature, but otherwise the stiff appendage seems as good as new.
The vegetation across the stream, however, has fared less well, having suffered a holocaust of blades and indiscriminate mowing. Tall ferns that once harboured green agamids and bold bronzebacks have lost their heads and even the riparian herbs have been marked as unwelcome by a soul bent on mindless destruction. In time, the fiddles will play again and the water will sow new shoots along its flank. But neither the gecko nor its green hideout are safe as long as this orphaned ridge is deemed worthy of urban redevelopment and judged to be lacking in interest for men who like their nature less and love only what grows in cold, concrete banks.
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