A flattened Cane Toad lies in the street. Its poison can kill a dog. They hunt by the garage at night under the light - run when I come out leap into the garage door with a THUD. Invasive. Poisonous. Not bright. When the temperature drops below 40 in South Florida, iguanas fall from trees like rain. “Don’t touch them” we’re told these colorful creatures are dormant. They advise us to kill them -these visitors from the Jurassic. I cannot. How could they know they’re trespassing? Purple stalks of Lupine carpet Iceland their color pops against green moss. Their beauty out-competes local flowers - poses for photo ops with tourists picnicking by “Keep Off” signs, blankets old lava flows and glacial melts. Visitors stride from ships and planes to seek this island’s treasures - yet urge it to trade silkies for Sea World. Loosestrife blooms each August at riverside in my old town. The mill wheel turns. Art hangs in the stone museum. People come for the small shops and fine buildings but stay for quiet streets overcast by ancient trees. The area booms when the Interstate is finished - corporate folks out-compete farmers. Agway loses to Walmart. Commuters careen past hay wagons on country roads.
