The Dragonfly

Outside in the garden an acrylic blue dragonfly takes my breath away, she is pinned on treated wood, a reminder of my mother's skillful hands Many a morning I played with my tea set on a dew filled grass, young blood racing through my veins, as I carefully poured us tea for two. "The cycle of nature is all about change and shifts," my mother said placing a touch of electric blue on a dragonfly wing. Then she would add, "may you find balance and kinship in all living things" She would take me to the water's edge, through weeds and twigs we'd go by early morning, for she had checked her flight time calendar and she was sure, this was the time for them to fly. I am old and gray now and my mother is in heaven painting fireflies with Angel wings of robin egg blue, I'm sure. Though my memory goes hazy every now and then, I can always recall at will those blessed mornings when I poured out tea for two and watched my mother add a touch of golden brown upon a dragonfly, of every hue.