At the shoreline, I startled a newly emerged Autumn Meadowhawk, who flew into the crew-cut grass below the dam. As I turned to look at it, thinking I might take its picture, I heard a killer buzz and watched a robber fly snatch the dragonfly and fly up onto the top of the dam. I couldn't help myself. I screamed, "Stop it!" and scrambled up the hill. The robber sped its prey into the sky and away.
What does one call insectslaughter? I didn't do it myself, but my actions surely led to dragonfly demise.
II
This time of year, it's impossible to walk Cheston's path without hearing frenzied bees, gathering as they do every year, greedily collecting pollen and pocketing it. Big bees, little bees, bumblebees, honeybees, flower flies -- they're all there. I was photographing them, wearing their pollen baskets like little Dutch girls, when I saw the huge (and I mean huge) killer wasp snag a honeybee and take off into a high limb. The wasp consumed the bee, tearing it apart willy-nilly and dropping bits on the ground at my feet.
III
I am thankful for the complicated twisting of smooth alder, breaking open into candy-colored twists like Dale Chihuly's glass, providing some relief from morning horror.
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