As nymphs, they live in water, sometimes a year or two

Before emerging from the deep,dressed in bright metallic hues. 

In early mornings, they sit and sun,in prep for taking flight

And then they rise like acrobats performing in the air

Moving in all directions—up and down, to and fro, and even side to side.

They bend and twist their wings, and can hover for a while

like an iridescent canvas in the sky.

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Their eyes are magnified by a thousand eyes inside

So they can see in all degrees when catching prey mid-air.

While their life is but a fraction of the time they spent below,

They live fully in the moment and free of all regret.

Like tiny ballet dancers full of elegance and grace

They flap their gossamer wings for their final journey home.

An early morning rain cools the air, and licks the grass with its tongue

Till each blade stands at attention, tall and unafraid.

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Soon the sun burns through the clouds like a wildfire in the sky,

And little puddles are dried away by its heat and blinding glare.

The day grows ever longer, and all is slow and tired,

Unwinding like a lazy stream that stays a steady course.

At last, the sun begins to sink, casting shadows on the ground.

Cicadas sing their chorus, and birds on tender branch

Call to one another, then chase the fading light.

Another day has ended, its troubles swept away—

Yet still, I wait and wonder what will tomorrow bring.