When I saw something large with shiny wings tumble out of the bushes, I followed.
It flew back in. I followed.
It fumbled back out. I followed.
I approached. It flew a few more paces.
I took four pictures. I tried to lean in with my camera.
It tumbled off to a clump of grass of my left, where it struggled to right itself and perch. I followed.
But a bird got there first, beaked the dragonfly, flew twenty paces to a curb, tucked the Odonate in, and took off to the trees by the lake.
I now have survivor's guilt and this beautiful photograph of a (now deceased) Prince Baskettail.
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