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…
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…
Yesterday afternoon, a pair of robin fledglings tumbled out of a nearby tree. They hopped through a rabbit’s crawl-space under the fence, then spent several hours exploring our back yard…
I wonder if the hoverfly thinks about beauty. Are daisies lovely, through its eyes, or simply another field of nectar? If your life’s work is harvesting nectar, does sweetness turn dusty and tired, soured by toil and necessity?
She worried about the camera, at first.
But quickly gained confidence.
Publication note: My poem “Dragonfly” appears in Issue 11 of Victorian Violet Journal, which launched yesterday.
Rae Spencer 