It’s been a long time since I have seen a chameleon in my village. Whenever I see them, I learn more
about its thoughts of colours. The chameleon colours are as loud as an irritating whistle kettle on a coal
stove. They’re as bright as spring sunflowers and sometimes as dull as poorly arranged mosaic
ornaments.
The chameleon thoughts are everywhere I look! On a cold, miserable grey sky day, the colours become
brighter and evident for one to see through their thoughts without binoculars.
On the days when the pots are empty and the heat in the kitchen is unbearable, the chameleon changes
colour to camouflage – a confusion that brings sadness to my heart as I stare at it.
I wonder why a chameleon cannot stick to one colour; why it cannot go without its misleading thoughts
of deception. I’m in a pickle trying to tell the actual colour of these disguised chameleon thoughts!
Oh, what a display of chameleon thoughts of colour which most times hurt the sight of an eye. They hurt
because of the inconsistency of deception every step it takes; with its slow undecided strides. Oh, what
a palaver!
The chameleon’s thoughts of colour border on their present space – and those are the colours I see most
times I look around my village.
The warmth of the chameleon’s colours is felt when the sun is shining, and now that it’s wintertime in
my village – the thoughts are cold and grey like the typical English weather.
Oh well, as the chameleon colours become more unseen, the chameleon itself gets lost in the rainy mud
and gets trampled on.
“Blimey! Did I step on something?” I exclaim as I lift my foot. I see a flat-faced chameleon which I had
mistakenly thought of as a tiny heap of compost. When my thoughts cleared, I sighed.
What a day it has been mistaking compost for a chameleon – oh how there are many colours of a
chameleon.
I cleaned up my foot and smile – a chameleon indeed!
