There is this in the habit of walking and looking: the seeing of something previously unseen, something so startling that only seeing is believing.
When Autumn Meadowhawks are in copula or "the wheel," so called for the shape of joined male and female, sperm meets egg. When she's ready, the female releases herself at the terminus of the abdomen, and the male flies them both at plant or rock or shoreline, where she taps fertilized eggs into water.
Why this male thwacked the female and himself, still locked by their biological parts, into the mud time after time (for at least the three minutes I watched), I do not know. But I do know this: I was greatly relieved when she released and they went about their business the old-fashioned way.
Once again, Ken Macrorie has been proven right: "People who daily expect to encounter fabulous realities run smack into them again and again. They keep their minds open for their eyes."