Dragon/Your Feet

The dog days of summer arrived. “Dog days of summer,” it turns out, has nothing to do with canines lying around to beat the heat; the expression comes from the ancient Greeks who believed that the Dog Star (Sirius) sparked the sun’s warmth when it rose at sunrise during the hot months. Go figure.

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One particularly doggie afternoon, Zach and I were in search of something to do, but first we needed to tend to the garden which was wilting from hundred-degree temps. It was one of those days with a heavy stillness in the air; no Pacific Ocean breezes were making their way inland. The sky had a peculiar brownish haze floating through it, which could have meant a wildfire in the area (or just smoggy pollution sitting in the valley). Outside, the hum of air conditioners working overtime competed with the buzz of cicadas. In the distance, firetruck sirens were blaring, and a helicopter’s whirring blades sent thumps through the thick air. Yes, most likely a wildfire somewhere.

The moment we stepped into the sun, the tops of our heads felt the penetrating rays. Sirius must have been working overtime! As we tended the garden and the various terra cotta flowerpots, the water droplets from the hose stirred up moths seeking refuge in the shade of leaves. The reflecting rays made a small rainbow appear over the leggy lantana as if by magic. I wondered if Zach saw it in the arc of the water spraying over the flowers. As I tried to point it out to him, I noticed he was looking elsewhere. I followed his glance. 

To his left, a dragonfly circled and soared. He was captivated. His love of bumblebees morphed into a love for butterflies, and that fascination mushroomed into a love for dragonflies. Literally everywhere we go, Zach spots these winged and wonderful creatures. I wondered if their delicate double wings ever felt sunburned on days such as this. 

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We were both barefoot on the beige cement in the breezeless, baking backyard. As the bee balm and balloon flower soaked up their water, we sat down to cool our feet. Perched on our black bench, we noticed two more dragonflies darting to and fro, as if engaged in an aerial game of tag. Zach’s attention was riveted.

There was one smaller, bright blue dragonfly that seemed interested in us. 

“He” had been a frequent visitor to our yard, and preferred to perch himself on the tippy-top branch of the lemon tree. Oftentimes, as I’d water the flowers or walk around the yard, I’d see this cerulean creature click his large head around, as if following my movements. I’d wave to it, greet him, and assure him that he was safe in our yard. 

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So as Zach sat entranced by these dancing dragonflies, I began to speak to them. “Hello friends,” I offered. Zach waved to them. “Hope it’s not too hot for you today. You’re welcome to drink from our bird bath.”

The little blue fellow was making figure-eights in front of us, occasionally zipping past our faces like a daredevil pilot at an air show trying to wow the crowd. I grabbed a twig, hoping it would come in for a landing upon it.

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Mr. Dragonfly started swooping lower and lower, figure-eighting right in front of our faces. He slowed down by the twig, but did not land on it. Zach reached out his arm, and I steadied it. He pointed a finger toward it, and I thought, well, just maybe Mr. D will land on his finger. But no go. He flew off to a neighbor’s yard. I hoped we didn’t scare him off.

We were dragging our feet in the midday summer heat…it felt too hot to sit there and too hot to move. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fluttering, and lo and behold, our little friend had reappeared, right next to my face. 

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“Hello! Welcome back!” I said cheerfully. Zach leaned over and tracked it as it resumed its circular frolic. We delighted in watching it flutter and skip around the sky. It glanced over the bird bath a few times, and I hoped that the Black Phoebe, which apparently catches insects for meals midair, would not make a meal of Mr. D.  Especially while Zach was watching.

From our bench, Zach suddenly lifted his bare foot in the air. Hmmmm…interesting thought.  A twig did not entice the dragonfly, an arm did not attract, a finger did not beguile; just maybe a toe would tempt!

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Mr. D danced in his circles, ascending and descending over our heads, shrinking the size of his loops with every switchback.  He slowed and circled just over Zach’s foot. At one point, he seemed to barely brush Zach’s toe with a dipped wing. I provided extra support to Zach’s leg, and we watched closely as our bright blue buddy examined the landing strip with those marvelous eyes of his.

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Then, all of a sudden, the dragonfly delicately dropped down on the tip of Zach’s big toe. We held our breath. It’s three pairs of eyelash-like legs hugged the hallux. Zach was so fascinated and delighted he just stayed perfectly still. Inches away from our own eyes, Mr. D’s eyes were close enough to inspect. Almost visible to us were the multiple little lenses through which Mr. D sees the world. The two large compound eyes (with these tiny ommatidia) were darting around 360º but kept focusing on us as if to say hello humans, I’ve been watching you, too!

It’s translucent wings were vibrating ever so slightly but remained still enough to observe. Its four wings looked incredibly fragile, but the chitinous structure and flexible membrane make them incredibly tough. 

Mr. D shifted his spindly legs at one point to acquire a better view of his human landing strip. Zach giggled. I swear they were communicating in that brief moment, where, eye to eye, Zach and the curious Mr. D each acknowledged the other’s God-given beauty. Each wonderfully complex, yet full of purity and simplicity.

The three of us sat in the sun studying one another for about sixty seconds. Then, as quietly and quickly as he came, our dragonfly friend launched and lifted above the laurel tree, leaving us in open-mouthed amazement. 

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I looked at Zach, whose eyes followed Mr. D’s flight path. The twinkle of blue in his eyes matched the brilliant blue of our dragonfly friend. Inside, I felt elated by this moment; there was nothing blue about my mood for the rest of the day. Even the blazing heat didn’t bother me.

Ever since that day, when we’re just bumming around the backyard, and dragonflies come along, darting and diving and dashing as they do, Zach watches and waits…willing one to light upon his toe again. I’ll watch for it, too, for there’s nothing like witnessing such moments of wonder. They are unexpected gifts (which are the best kind, aren’t they?). When something sends joy into my son’s soul, and I see that smile upon his face, I simply soar inside. My heart lifts, as if a dragonfly, this wild and wispy-winged creature, carries it up and around while dancing in Sirius’ sunbeams.

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“Deep in the sun-searched growths, the dragonfly

Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky.”

from “Sonnet XIX: Silent Noon”  by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1871)