As I drive over Rooney’s Bridge, the moon’s golden face smiles across the mangrove tree and mudflats, emphasizing their absorption of light. The mudflats, however, eagerly await the dancing tread of the gods. I’m sure if I left the huddle of the car and trudged through the grasses, I would find footprints on the mudflats; as if the gods had just left the ballroom in order to go in search of light refreshments. It seems, too, as if the crabs, whelks, fish, the sleeping birds, and even the most minutiae of inhabitants, await their return, but I am afraid that they have been scared away by invasive humans who now plague the landscape and litter it with glass, plastic, and rusted iron. Only the fruit bats, streaming out from the mangroves in a cloud, to swarm over the city, and raid its trees, seem exempt from the devastation that man has brought, but that is not true either. They have lost many of their roost sites and feeding grounds and so they offend humans by amassing close to residents’ home causing complaints about the noise, the smell, and the risk of disease.