Today, I began an adventure with some fifteen or so Sewanee-ites. Under the direction of artist Julie Puttgen, we are placing small tsatsas (tiny Buddhist stupas) in sacred places, leaving them for passerbys to find.
And as I started the adventure, I (re)found magic at one of my most sacred places: Lake Cheston. Rounding a curve along the path from hill toward dam, I saw a darting twinkle, followed it round a tree, and saw a mated pair of Autumn Meadowhawks, he steering and she depositing eggs in leafy water.
At the metal trestle bridge, I watched five pairs, one of whom landed briefly on my red jacket. On the bridge to the dam from the woods, another pair mated on the wooden planks, backed by warm sun. Where had they spent the cold night and other cold nights previous? I wondered. Even on the beach, a pair landed at my feet, their winds sparkling like sugared sand.
I had thought dragonfly season was well over. Magic happens even when you're not looking, and if you're lucky -- like me -- you might glimpse it every now and then.
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