little pleasures

A fairy visited me this morning.


I had wended my way through the leading stories in The Oregonian (another blessing from my Kindle).  The usual lamentations about political missteps.  Trouble in the Middle East.  Economic expectations dashed. 


The fare that has enlivened newspaper stories for the past century -- and before.


Earl Warren once said that he turned to the sports pages to see human accomplishments before he read of human failings on the front page.  But even the sports pages these days read more like rap sheets than the carols of angels.


I was in a funk.  For the past week I have been mumbling under my breath how I am bored.  The symptoms were all there.  Staying up until 5 AM only to sleep in until 11.  And then hanging around the house all day reading a bit.  Watching a film now and then.


It may be the natural result of several action-packed months.  Trips to the highlands.  A hurricane.  A new church building.


Maybe I was simply befuddled by the lack of activity.  A void of projects.


But before I could venture down self-pity lane, I was distracted by my visitor.  A dragonfly.  Which type, I am not certain.  I once knew quite a bit about insects, but that arcana took leave, along with the names of the 1959 Dodgers starting lineup, several years ago.


A dragonfly it was, though.  Enjoying the shade from its high speed dog fights with mosquitoes.  Perhaps, a lunch break.


It could not possibly know the risk of landing there on that shrubbery.  Lacking speed to kill mosquitoes, I rely upon the Ypres solution -- gas warfare.  My little patio is regularly saturated with bursts of Raid.  It works.  But there are always collateral victims.


Whether it intuited the danger or not, it waited patiently on the perimeter of danger.


What was odd is that it was there.  The laguna is no stranger to dragonflies.  Because it is the breeding ground for mosquitoes.  And the dragonflies regularly zoom through my garden, where the mosquito population is only marginally less than the crocodile haven.


But I have never seen one rest as long as this one did.  Probably no more than a minute.  Not disturbed in the least when I slipped inside to retrieve my camera.


Brief though the encounter was, I realized it had taken my mind off of my self-imposed boredom.  The very sight of it was enough to remind me that life truly is made of moments.


And if we live within the moment we have, it is excitement enough to shoo off those little negative tendrils that slip into our lives.