Morning Stroll to Cedar Hollow Lake

Fragile Forktails flit from leaf to leaf, sometimes pausing to groom themselves.  (And I think of Sue Hubbell's  Broadsides from the Other Orders.)

Robber flies buzz: one loses a sortie with a female Eastern Pondhawk; another wins the prize of a smaller fly.  (And I think of Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.)

An owl swoops down and up right in front of me.  (And I think of Jane Yolen's Owl Moon.)

No-seeums whine round the earrings Kelsey gave me.  (And I think of Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer.)

In the forest, literature dazzles.