So many dragonflies emerged this morning that I lost count. On rocks, reeds, sand -- they pulled out of their exuviae, hung to gather strength, then heaved themselves up and out to hang dangerously over water. A strong wind blew their weak wings, wrapping them round their bodies, flapping like celophane flags.
Among the many were a few too deformed to fly. Still they grew, lengthened, darkened, hung on.
It's the hanging on I am still thinking about -- the way they grasped and held despite the wind, driven by instinct and riven by wind. For them I have one hope something like a prayer: may they not have suffered a slow drowning in the lake, but may they have made a bird's or fish's quick meal.
No comments:
Post a Comment