At sunset, strolling under the oaks, we heard the
rustling of grass as though a snake were slithering
toward us. But no, the wings of dragonflies were rustling
as their bodies looped above the dwindling creek in twilight.
We rested a moment on a rock as thirty dark bodies
wove through the air a foot or so above the water,
and we strained our eyes to glimpse sapphire
and turquoise and ruby red. The other world
didn't matter anymore. The creek and the oaks
and the grasses were alive with song. An owl winged,
moth-like, to a nearby oak, perched above us, turned its flat,
oval face and peered silently a long time.
Watch the moon rise.
Take a path on the "Experimental Range."