Optics

A low wind prowls like a tiger in the long reeds. Water rats race across a brook creating arrowheads through the stream. From a tufted hillock I watch small fish darting, chasing edibles too small for eyes to see. The fish have no name that I can recall. For an instant I too am nameless, both lost and found. Now the wind tugs at my coat, dragonfly-wings flicker-by – an iridescent perception that glimpses only itself, a presence that is both found and lost.