He relocated to a much quieter neighbourhood; a pile of unused rocks against the wall in our backyard. Whenever the sun fell on the rockpile, our iguana would sun himself, quickly hiding at any hint of danger. When your house has been destroyed in a flash by two alien monsters, it’s not hard to see why you would become a little jittery.
Each year, I seek out our iguana to see how he is doing. But this year, he was nowhere to be seen. I tried creeping up silently on his home, tried waiting patiently for him to appear, but failed to catch a glimpse of the errant lizard. I gave up hope of finding him again. I thought that, maybe, just like other Baja residents, “The Great Hot Summer of 2008” had caused him to pack his bags.
Yesterday, I was walking through the garden, enjoying the smells of a multitude of different flowers carried on the crisp breeze and the feel of the sun on my skin. I was completely immersed in the experience. As I moved toward the edge of the garden, I turned round and, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my Iguana, majestically preening himself in the sun. I had only found him when I was not consciously looking for him.
I have always found it interesting that various parts of the human eye behave in different but complementary manners. The center of your field of vision allows you to examine items in detail, but requires high light levels to operate. In dim lighting, the center of the eye sees little. Peripheral vision, on the other hand, allows for little detail, but operates well in minimal illumination. When you are walking through a dark place, rather than looking straight ahead, you can see better if you navigate using the vague impressions caught at the edge of your vision. I liken central vision to intellectual analysis of a situation, while peripheral vision is more akin to reliance on feelings and perceptions.