Go. Stop. Go.

The water beetle looks senseless: it speeds, stops, rests, speeds, stops, rests. Like an armored vehicle ready to do damage or to survive attack, or a flak-jacketed warrior, or bullet fired without certain aim, the beetle escapes my understanding, like the fleeting moments on waking or falling asleep when I remember something I had forgotten, and then the next day have forgotten again. Go. Stop. Go. Beetle and racing mind.

Possibly a Whirligig Beetle