Count the iguanas as they fall from the trees.
Attention Earthling: The Florida Cold Snap, or How I Learned to Count Iguanas
By Verity Blue, Interstellar Correspondent, Currently Orbiting Somewhere Over Florida 🛸🦎
Attention Earthling,
I have been stationed in Florida for observation, reconnaissance, and the occasional snack involving citrus. Everything was proceeding normally. The humans wore sandals. The air smelled faintly of sunscreen and existential dread. Then the temperature dropped below 60 degrees.
Pandemonium.
On my home planet, this would be considered “pleasant nap weather.” In Florida, it triggered a statewide emergency involving hoodies, news anchors in parkas, and something the locals call “cold.”
But the most fascinating development was the Iguana Event.
You see, Earthling, Florida has an unofficial winter sport: counting iguanas as they fall from trees. When temperatures dip, the iguanas go into a sort of reptilian sleep mode, lose their grip, and plummet earthward like scaly Christmas ornaments shaken loose by gravity.
I learned this the hard way.
One moment I was strolling beneath a palm tree, practicing my human disguise (baseball cap, neutral expression, vague confusion). The next moment, thud. An iguana landed at my feet, frozen stiff, eyes closed, dignity gone.
At first I assumed this was an invasion tactic. Perhaps the reptiles were staging a coordinated ambush. I scanned the sky. Another iguana fell. Then another.
It was raining lizards.
The humans, instead of panicking as protocol suggests, reacted with alarming calm.
“Oh yeah,” one said, stepping casually around a reptile. “It’s cold.”
Cold, apparently, is when:
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Humans wear socks with sandals and insist this is normal.
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News stations issue Iguana Forecasts.
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Reptiles drop from trees like loose groceries.
I observed families turning this phenomenon into a game.
“Three!” a child shouted as another iguana hit the lawn.
“Four!” replied the parent, sipping coffee, unfazed by airborne wildlife.
On my planet, we count falling objects only during asteroid warnings. Here, it’s breakfast entertainment.
The iguanas, I should note, are not deceased. They are merely rebooting. As the sun warms them, they awaken, stretch, and scuttle away, embarrassed but alive. Much like Floridians after wearing a winter coat in public.
The humans insist this weather is “brutal.” Thermometers read numbers that would cause my species to cancel all complaints and throw a picnic. Yet Floridians react as though the ice age has returned, turning on heaters, burning candles, and telling each other, “This never happens.”
It happens every year.
Still, I admire their resilience. They survive hurricanes, humidity, and now falling reptiles. They adapt. They joke. They continue wearing flip-flops even when logic has left the building.
As for me, I have begun my own tradition. Each cold morning, I step outside, look up, and count.
One iguana.
Two iguanas.
Three iguanas.
Winter, Florida-style.
End transmission. Stay warm, Earthling. And watch the trees. 🌴🦎❄️
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