Dragonfly

I fished a dragonfly out of the pond this morning. He had landed to drink, and gotten caught in a bit of string algae. The once iridescent wings looked pale, and listless. I don’t know if dragonflies have eyelids, but it seemed to me his were closed. Perhaps it was just the pall of death beginning to overtake his body. I scooped him out with an old pancake flipper, and gently laid him in the sun. I found myself unconsciously thinking, “breathe, damnit!” There was a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch. Had he died after all? Then another twitch, and the color began to return to the wings. As I watched, those eyes took on a spark, and I began to hope. The oppressive heat and brutal sun that I had been avoiding for days was healing and reviving this tiny creature. Within minutes, that dragonfly was flexing his wings, and as the speed picked up, I could almost imagine what a maelstrom it would create if it were the size of a jet. Suddenly it took flight, and my heart began to sing. Why should I care if this small insect survived? It’s singular existence held little impact in my world. Or did it? Perhaps this particular dragonfly was fated to eat the mosquito that would have carried west Nile virus to my horse. Perhaps, it would eat the fly that carried infection with it’s bite. I think more honestly, that this small greenish bug captured the still existing child in my soul. That tiny bit of innocence that I refuse to give up to the realities of life. I hold dear to that bit of innocence. From it comes my ability to love…and to care enough to fish out a little green dragonfly, and hope it would live.