High in a tree beside a slow brown river, breakfast was going beautifully.
The young iguana had found a branch heavy with flowers. She ate one petal at a time, the way iguanas do. Leaves, flowers, soft fruit. That is the whole menu, and she loved every bit of it.
Below her, on a thicker branch, dozed the old one. He was longer than a broom, most of him tail, and he had lived beside this river for many years.
Then something strange happened.
The sunlight on top of her head blinked.
She looked up. Blue sky. Bright sun. Not one cloud.
"Old one," she called down. "The sun just blinked."
The old one opened one eye. "The sun is fine," he said. "Your other eye is talking."
"My other eye?"
"On top of your head. A little pale circle, there since the day you hatched. It sees light and dark, and it watches the sky so you can watch your breakfast. When it blinks, wings have crossed the sun."
The young iguana went very still.
"Wings," she said. "What kind of wings?"
"The kind with a hawk attached," said the old one. "Now listen carefully. When the shadow comes back, let go of the branch."
"Let go? The river is so far down!"
"That is the good part," he said.
The shadow came back.
It slid over her head like a cold whisper, and every scale on her body decided at once. She let go.
Falling felt like forever. Then the river caught her with a mighty splash, and her body remembered things she had never learned. Legs flat against her sides. Long tail sweeping side to side, driving her forward like a paddle. Green iguanas are splendid swimmers, and she found this out on the way.
She slipped between the sunken roots of an old tree and held her breath. Iguanas can wait underwater for many minutes, calm and quiet, while trouble gets bored above.
She counted the ways she loved flowers. She got to forty.
When she climbed back up the bank, the sky was empty and the old one was exactly where she had left him.
"The hawk moved on," he said. "You dove like a champion."
"I fell like a rock," she said.
"For an iguana," he said, "that is the same thing."
Here is a secret you can keep: if you ever see a green iguana dozing in the sun, look at the top of its head for a small pale circle. It looks like nothing much. It is a watchman, and it works even while she dreams.
The young iguana climbed back to her flowery branch and finished breakfast, one petal at a time.
Above the river, the sun shone steady and whole.
And on top of her head, the little eye kept watch.