For those who need a break from the long-winded tale of my state career, I offer this post before we continue on that dull journey. This is my new friend. I’m not sure it’s who I think it is, but the story is happier that way, and means a little more, so if we have to pretend and make-believe a bit, I’m all for it. A stretch of the imagination keeps it sharp.
A couple of days before summer ended, we had a nice stretch of sunny days and warmer weather. Our doors were opening and closing all the time, and one of us must have let a dragonfly into the house, because as Andy was pulling out of the driveway to get groceries, one of these magnificent creatures swooped into the kitchen where I was working and scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t because I was scared of dragonflies – quit the contrary: I admire them and feel rather warmly toward them, the way I do with bumblebees and butterflies. Still, having one in your house is a different matter entirely, and as it flew around the kitchen lights, I wondered how on earth I was going to capture and release it. They are notoriously quick, racing around the pool with lightning-fast turns and stunning aerial maneuvers. Andy wouldn’t be back for a while, so I kept my eye on the fluttering creature and surreptitiously grabbed a clear plastic pitcher.
I was just testing to see how high I could reach, lifting the pitcher up toward the ceiling, and as I did so it must have caught the light, as the dragonfly fluttered right into it, settling on the bottom. I hadn’t even had time to grab something to cover it, but it stayed there on the bottom, gently flapping its wings but not going anywhere. Grabbing a plate, I quickly managed to cover it, peering at its magnificent form and gently reassuring it that I was about to set it free. Hey, who knows what our insects can hear – certain more than us I’m sure. It was smaller than most of the dragonflies one sees, and dull of color compared to the peacock-like rainbow others exhibit. I brought it into the backyard, took off the plate, and poured it into the night sky where it promptly took flight. I didn’t think much of it until the last day of summer.
Swimming for what was likely the last time this year, I watched as bees and butterflies floated above the last of the seven sons flowers. At the end of the cup plant’s stems, long gone to seed, a chipmunk rustled and swayed on its precarious perch. Such daring! Such cheek! Such an easy target for a hawk!
And then, as I made my way from the deep end to the shallow, a dragonfly darted by, then returned, as if playing in some anthropomorphic way. I thought back to the one I had brought out from the house. This one alighted first on the weeping larch. At first I just stood in the shallow end, taking in the moment of beauty and watching the creature as it sunned itself in the heat. It didn’t move so I pull myself out of the water and found my phone to snap a photo. It moved, but not far – landing on the nearby fig tree, where it posed for these pictures, as if thanking me for something, or simply acknowledging my peaceful presence, knowing I would not hurt it.
I’m too cynical to believe it was the same dragonfly I had rescued a few days before, but it did look similar – dull in color, smaller than most of the dragonflies one sees in the summer – and I want to believe it is.
We have such small recompense for kindness.
