It’s our second and final morning in the country.  I am up earlier than I would have liked and a bit restless.  Nothing strikes my fancy for reading, and I can’t imagine writing anything of interest. Now or ever. 
   I have mixed feelings about this central Texas B&B.  The little house is cozy, the views of the open, albeit flat land is relieving; the hostess is indescribably familiar – as if I have met her before and need to know her better.  I could easily plan to return to continue painting, reading, maybe writing, if it weren’t for her website’s full disclosure of scorpions and bees.  
   Bees I can handle.  But how would I handle a scorpion in the cottage without Les being here?  How can I let myself and my generation of independent, self-sufficient women down by admitting defeat to a predatory arthropod?  Thank goodness we are remote, but not so remote as to not be able to look this up on the internet.  
   What if instead I were to think of him (Arachnida Scorpionida) like the snake?  (More on that in another post.  Maybe.)  Apologetically I admit that I’d rather not think about any of these creatures, and find myself mentally heading back to the city where danger comes in my own species with high-speeding bullets.  
   Bullet vs being scared to death of a snake or non-lethal (according to my hostess, not what the internet says) scorpion bite?  Not reasonable thinking.  Any of it.  But there is a shimmer of writer’s hope in the muse.