Wings outstretched, upside down, the young dragonfly was sinking through the water. I scooped him up thinking I was merely honoring the dead, when his wings twitched in my palms, a tiny spurt of vibration. I assumed it was reactionary even after death—some animals, I know, twitch even after they’re dead.
I tenderly released him on the side of the pool, wings down. He twitched. I wondered if maybe it would have been kinder for him to have drowned rather than twitch through a prolonged death. I considered putting him back in the water...but what a stupid thought! Maybe I had gotten him in time! Maybe he was reviving! He twitched again, several of his legs spinning out, a pair rubbing his head. Tiny sporadic twitches. I swam another lap to give him privacy, hoping and praying (though that sounds odd, yes I prayed for the little critter—dragonflies and ladybugs are extra special) for him to revive.
It was still pitch dark outside, only about 6:15. The half moon high over head gibbous waning. The world held its breath, dark and quiet. Wee dragonfly was lifeless... his legs all meeting and folded over his body. He was dead. My heart sank. I swam another lap.
He was dead, still dead. I swam another lap. Poor wee dragonfly. Come on dragonfly. Come on dragonfly. Still not moving. But...WHAT? He was right side up! Right side up! But stone still. What a marvel! How had he righted himself? So tiny. So fragile. He balanced, tilted, lopsided, his wings transparent tissue paper heavy with wetness. I heard myself chanting quietly, come on dragonfly, come on dragonfly... Do dragonflies hear? I was afraid, too, that he might be afraid of me, so I tried not to get too close. That was difficult... Such a human inclination to comfort with physical touch. I wanted to stroke his back...pet him. I swam another lap.
He could buzz and move in short—not even a second’s worth—spurts. But he was moving. Sporadic, dazed drunkeness. Rest dragonfly. Rest. Take your time. Come on dragonfly. Don’t be afraid. Take your time. He sat still. Obediently resting. I swam another lap. Hope carries a great deal of energy. I wanted to see the little guy fly off successfully. Surely he would make it!
This time he was gone. I searched and searched, eye level with the deck...he was nowhere to be found! I could only imagine him popping up in the air—I hoped with confidence that he’d gained back enough life that he could go whatever distance he needed to return to his family. Last night on the last walk around the island, swarms of these angelic creatures landed on the spikes of bushes that grow along the eastern wall of a building. More like fairies than dragons. Swarms like that are usually a sign that a great storm is approaching. I don’t see a single dragonfly now. But now the sun is rising with not a cloud in the sky—there are gentle wisps in the far-off eastern horizon. A beautiful day.
As I finished writing that last word (thinking I was finished with this story), guess what landed on the top of my thermos barely a foot away from my face? A wee, worn dragonfly! I have been whispering to him now for a good five minutes. I took a couple of pics but dared not stand or move too much. What joy to have him here! Fearless. If he is the same dragonfly, he needs to rest. I feel completely insane wondering, presuming, believing this is the same little guy I rescued two hours ago... There are so many people now in the pool. The sun still hasn’t risen above the building to our east, but it is mostly quiet—one sporadic mind-numbing jigsaw in the garage. A mourning dove, millions of very annoying noseeums are driving me stark raving mad. But here—here is a beloved dragonfly...companioning me here as I have been writing about him for the last...hour maybe! What a blessed and enchanting visitation. What a gift! I can’t take my eyes off of him... So fragile looking but yet quite sturdy, quite robust. Weary, but alive.
Life is good.
