Dump.
Shell station.
The Pig.
Fred's.
The bank.
Home.
Even before getting out of the car, I saw it -- the Gray Petaltail flying from my neighbor's yard to my largest black walnut tree. A quick run into the house, bags and all, for the camera. (For once, I didn't have it, a regrettable decision.)
The sun was finally out. And happily, it was afternoon, when sun streams into my west-facing front yard.
Welcome, annual and ancient visitor (expert Dennis Paulson has written that the Petaltails "are often considered the most primitive living odonates"), I want to shout, but don't, and sneak, and sneak, and sneak, assume a position and hold it, and try -- again and again -- to snap the female, camouflaged on the trunk.
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