Dona Bay, about an hour after sunrise
This morning on the dog walk, I stumbled into one of those little moments that almost makes you forget how early it is. The sun was climbing, the air was already thick with humidity, and as we wandered along the edge of Dona Bay I noticed a swarm of tiny insects caught in a shaft of light. They were backlit perfectly, each one glowing like some kind of glittering dust mote from hell. Normally I want nothing to do with insects, I know they serve a purpose, but they can keep their buzzing, biting little lives away from me.
Then, out of nowhere, a dragonfly shot into the swarm. Wings sparkling in the morning light, it zipped through the cloud like an ace pilot. Forward, backward, sideways, it was a blur of precision strikes, picking off the little bastards midair. I could actually see it eating as it flew, mandibles snapping with every dart and pivot, a breakfast buffet in motion.
I stood there longer than I meant to, just watching, while the dogs looked at me like I had lost my mind. There was something mesmerizing about it, the calm of the water, the brightness of the sun, and the silent slaughter above the bay. For once, I was cheering for a bug, or at least the biggest, meanest one in the sky. Breakfast was served, and it was not mine.