Traffic Jam

Where water pours into Lake Cheston from the woods, I stood on the small wooden bridge.  The Common Green Darner jetted up and down and around the shore, weaving in and out of the cattails, now speeding faster than I could watch, then stopping in mid-air like a basketball pro on the court.  The little red Calico Pennant balanced on the tip of a grass spear, idle.  The Banded Pennants snapped to and mated; the Eastern Amberwings hovered over the water, patrolling their tiny kingdoms with calm aplomb.  Slaty Skimmers flew one above the other, turning and turning till one sped off and the other followed.  Widow Skimmers spun into the sky like runaway pinwheels.  Clinging to the lower stems and grasses, a single Bluet hung out and paired Swamp Spreadwings and Violet Dancers completed their couplings.  Finally, into the mix came the yoked Black Saddlebags flying clumsily as if tipsy, he dipping and she refusing to deposit her eggs, others in hot pursuit.



At noon, here, imagine this: rush-hour traffic in a big city, to the sound of fish-slapping water, flicking wings, and birdsong.  Always, let there be birdsong.