Almost at the moment I noticed the predator on the fence post, he zoomed out, snapped the moth, flew to a leaf within arm's reach. I didn't want to, but couldn't help watching. The moth struggled, then stopped. The robber fly flew off with his prey.
I left the garden, preoccupied with the yellow butterfly snagged by a bird yesterday afternoon. the New Yorker article about hospice. Betsy's memorial service coming this weekend.Home, I stepped out of the car, turned around toward the house, and watched a red-spotted purple float from leaf to leaf, looking for a place to land. I needed that flash of color on a day tinged with the living and the dead.
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