A friendly damselfly alights on Travis' arm.
Like a kitty bringing home a lizard to its favored “owner” (disclaimer: no one really owns a cat) a tiny, predatory damselfly landed on my hand yesterday with a small flying creature in its mouth. I raised my hand slowly to take a myopic look at the miniature loveliness only to see the struggling beastie being devoured, one bite at a time. I watched as the chomping motion of mighty miniscule mandibles signaled the end of the life of the fly.
I didn’t really know whether to say “yuck” or “wow.” I ended up being grateful for the gift of watching “my” small garden predator who works so hard to find his dinner in the garden.
I haven’t seen much of Facundo Chulo this season; he’s been keeping to himself. We do hear him occasionally, though, signaling to us that he is alive, stuffing his rotund tummy and incidentally keeping the garden free of winged ravagers. I wish I could grab him and plop him down in the lilies, where the “Japanese beetles” reign. These green ladybug lookalikes eat everything—leaves and flowers—but it could be worse. They could be all over the garden; instead they concentrate on the lilies and leave the rest of the plants pretty much alone.
How apropos, when mating, damselflies for a heart.
I could choose to look at them as artists—creating lacy, woven patterns in the leaves and flowers in rare designer fashion (but I probably won’t). Meanwhile we live with them, crushing the occasional one that comes to hand and watching dozens more wing away.
Gardening—the microcosm of life and death, awe and wonder. How blessed we gardeners are!
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