Standing and Waiting Have Their Rewards

A bleak afternoon: the cloud cover expected later arrived earlier, and I went to the lake later rather than earlier.

I stutter-strolled down one pathway along the short side of the beach, stopped to stare at the bittersweet as though I might see something new (I didn't), stopped to stare at the oil-slicked water's surface as though I might see something new (I didn't), stopped to stare at the cat-tails as though I might see something new (I didn't). I stood. I waited. For nothing.

I took one step toward the water, and then it happened: a beautiful female Blue-faced Meadowhawk fluttered up from the leaf litter, perched, and allowed my long gaze.

What luck! Only the second of her species I have seen this year I and the first-ever female I have found all by her lonesome.

As if the sun had come out (it hadn't), the day brightened, and I went for that walk after all.

Photo Opps/Photo Oops

I
One Photo Opp, One Oops
All the slow way round the lake, I thought of only one thing: finding a Blue-faced Meadowhawk. Last year I saw one; the year before none; the year before that three. I reallyreallyreally wanted to see another. Finally, along the path toward the beach, one landed some distance ahead of me. Time for two quick shots; no time to focus properly or adjust the camera.

At home, I see what I expected: a poor photograph. And then I see what I didn't expect: signs of wear and tear. This is an old guy.

I wonder if he'll be around tomorrow?

II
The Second Oops
Trying to shoot the much sought-after meadowhawk, I realized I could no longer depress the rotation wheel on my camera, thus disabling many of the functions I like most.

III
One More Opp
At home, I accessed my Square Trade Warranty. YES! As I thought, I paid for two years. The camera is covered! Now I wait and see.

Lake Cheston ABCedarian: S

S IS FOR SYMPETRUM AMBIGUUM (BLUE-FACED MEADOWHAWK)

Only one today, but one is enough. Such a beautiful small Odonate, its face like a squarish pat of petroleum jelly, its eyes teal sky reflected in clear lake water, its abdomen jellied red hots.

Welcome back, little fellow!

Waiting

Like Vladimir and Estragon in Samuel Beckett's play -- who wait, and wait, and wait for the mysterious Godot, a man they have never seen and probably will never see -- I too have been waiting, but for the Blue-faced Meadowhawks, whom I saw over a period of only three days last year (though when I saw the first one, I thought I was truly "seeing things").  

They have not arrived.  

That is, they have not arrived when I happened to be in the most likely spot -- the dam bridge and run-off channel, where I saw them previously.

But other wonders await every day, and in the same spot.  Luck today rewarded me when, turning onto the bridge, I spotted something B-I-G at the other end of the rail.  I crept closer and closer and closer, hoping I wouldn't spook it.  

I needn't have worried, for there a confident assassin -- a wheel bug -- stood sentinel, and then turned and menacingly paced toward me as I took its picture.  

I backed off, but not entirely away because I could not stop looking: the metallic blue beneath folded wings, bronze shimmer of teardrop-shaped sections of those wings, tiny porthole-like dots along the upper sides of the abdomen, dense hair, bright orange appendages (including the deadly beak), fantastic wheel and armor, balletic steps of its hunt -- all so endearingly engaged me.

For a moment, I forgot about the Meadowhawks.  Besides, there's always tomorrow: same place, same time.