Lizard Blizzard

“It’s freezing cold. What on earth are you doing out on the patio at this hour?” asked Tim, alarmed.

“Oh, my God!” I said, shivering. “You startled me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

“What is it honey?”

“Hurry,” I said, turning to my husband with tears raining from my eyes.

Blinded temporarily by my tears, I’d removed my glasses to wipe them away and pointed to the trees in our backyard.

“Look,” I burst out. “It’s raining lizards!”

“When temps take a nose dive and the Sunshine State freezes over, it wreaks havoc with the wildlife,” Tim explained matter of factly. “Iguanas climb up trees to roost at night. When iguanas freeze, they totally shut down, and can no longer hang on to the trees. As the saying goes, when it rains it pours, and so-called raining Kamikaze lizards are no longer an urban legend!”

Tim winked at me. “No worries, honey, when there’s a freezing spell, Floridians know to be on the lookout for dead as a doornail grey looking iguanas. The once bright green lizards do come around when it warms up and they catch the sun rays.”

I stared mesmerized at the frozen lizards.

“Oh, yeah, I should probably warn you,” Tim told me, “they’ve been known to bite, so best to leave these exotic critters alone.”

Lizard Blizzard

It was still dark and bitter cold when we went back inside the house. I was processing frozen iguanas dropping from perch in a catatonic state, covering the ground like squishy overripe mangoes in our South Florida tropical garden with exotic edibles.

There was a silence.

“Are you all right, honey?” Tim asked, hugging me.

I nod and smile. “I will always cherish the surreal memory of lizard blizzard winter solstice in our lush and enchanting hideaway in the Grove.”