What should I call my fascination with dragonflies? What if I never get tired of looking for them, never get tired of taking their pictures and learning their names? Years from now, stiff in the knees with cloudy eyes and foggy mind, will I continue to chase every glittering flash of wing?
What will it mean, if I do get tired of them?
This pondhawk moved into the corner iris bed today, defending its claim against all intruders. It even challenged the lawnmower, darting and swooping around the noisy engine.
The irises’ blue dashers retreated into other beds, seemingly content with the new order of things.
As I wandered the yard with my camera, a cool breeze fell out of these clouds. A short time later, the breeze whipped into indecisive gusts, some lashing north to south, others tumbling west to east.
I lingered as long as I dared, but retreated when lightning began to flicker from cloud to cloud, rolling thunder into the scene.
I wonder where dragonflies go, during such weather? Maybe they stay on their perches, letting the rain wash their wings…
Publication Note: My poem After the Birthday is posted on the poemblog at vox poetica, which is currently running Contributor Series 11: On Birthdays.
The robin family has moved on, as families tend to do, and the yard feels empty and quiet. Almost eerie, after such a whirlwind of exploration and clamor.
Maybe I’ll fill my empty hours with the manuscript that has been molting in my office, shedding pages all over the floor, sprouting new subplots and dialogue as it matures…
Rae Spencer 