The Dragonfly

 The Dragonfly - 1080 words                                                     

    My husband left for work at 4 p.m. for an overnight shift. We lived on a peninsula jutting out into Maine’s Penobscot Bay. The location was rural and quite isolated. It was June and a gorgeous day with brilliant sun. I waved goodbye as he backed out of our driveway. Noticing that the lawn needed to be mowed, I went into the garage and started up our riding mower, hoping I could get the entire acre finished that late afternoon.

   After mowing the front lawn first, I moved around to the side yard. Suddenly, movement in the woods behind the house caught my eye. A flash of blue, about five feet off the ground. I slowed the riding mower. What’s that?

    I looked again, blinking hard. Nothing. Must have been my imagination.

    Bumping along under our huge maple tree, towering 50 feet into the clear blue sky, movement in the woods grabbed my attention again. I stopped the mower. Something felt odd.

    Scanning the tree line, I began to grip the steering wheel tightly as a tall, slender male figure began to emerge from the woods. I shut the mower off and waited. Like an apparition appearing out of fog, a man stepped out of the woods onto our back lawn.

    Who’s that? I’m home alone. There shouldn’t be a man in the woods.

     I held my breath, surveying the scene. About 6’ tall, he wore a blue plaid flannel shirt, jeans and sneakers. Staring straight ahead as he walked toward my house, his arms were held tightly at his sides and his long, thin legs moved methodically toward the deck on the back of the house. What does he want? Why isn’t he looking at me; didn’t he hear the mower shut off?

    Head spinning, I glanced around for help. My only visible neighbor’s driveway was empty. Her car was gone. Our remote location on the coast of Maine afforded solitude, but today I needed not to be alone. I listened, hoping to hear a vehicle approaching out on the road. Silence reigned. My house doors weren’t locked and a strange man was walking toward the back of my house. My cell phone and car keys were inside. I froze-waiting.

    I’m alone–completely alone. Sitting on the mower, under the maple tree, I was barely breathing. He must know I’m here. What should I do? I was motionless, trying to catch my breath as I waited for him to glance my way. He didn’t.

   Proceeding up the six rear deck steps, he moved toward the double sliding glass doors. Oh no –he’s going in the house!

    Suddenly, everything changed. I knew by his gait; those long strides were familiar. That’s Dad! But Dad died 7 years ago. I smiled as I watched him climb those stairs with the ease of a much younger man. No more pain. Dad had died on his 89^th birthday ─ a frail, forgetful man. I’d been with him when the end came, gently. The last thing he ever said to me was “Thank you being my lifeline.” Then came the final, shallow breath.

    Fascinated by the recognition, I watched him glide through the double deck doors and disappear from view. How can that be? I was truly amazed. Often, after his death, I sensed his presence and love around me. But in all of the years since he passed, I had never seen him.  How did he do this, especially when I’m mowing the lawn? I’ll never know.

    Dad’s curiosity about how things worked was relentless. He spent hours taking things apart and reassembling them: cars, hand mixers, hair dryers, microwave ovens, blenders, bicycles and more. If anyone could figure out how to do this--return as an apparition--it would be Dad. This is just like him. I began to recall those first months after he left us on February 9—his 89^th birthday.

    The summer after Dad died, a large dragonfly with a wingspan of 7-8” began appearing on our deck. It was iridescent green and seemed to want to be near me – to touch me! I started talking to it, asking if Dad had sent it?

    Dad had loved dragonflies. Every summer he’d released 5,000 dragonflies to keep down the multitude of mosquitoes near his summer lake camp.

    Over the next several months, this same dragonfly often came inside our house. I’d leave the screen door open so it had a clear flight path to enter. The dragonfly would always stay in the kitchen/dining area. Lighting on my hair, it would remain on top of my head for 10-20 minutes.

    This dragonfly had a fun personality!  When poised on my head, it always faced forward in the same direction I was looking─ never sideways or backwards. Sometimes I would walk up to a mirror on the dining room wall. which always elicited a response from this humungous insect. Little head bobs and dancing motions accompanied the recognition. Through these unusual responses, I learned to love this dragonfly!

    In Maine, most of the insects are fairly small. This dragonfly was the size of a bird, yet it allowed me to touch its body and wings. It seemed to have no fear of me, so I welcomed it into our house. When late fall arrived, nature was preparing for winter and the dragonfly left.

    During the winter I felt sad, thinking it must have died. Spring finally arrived in May and I opened the deck doors. Within 15 minutes, a dragonfly flew inside and lit on my head. It was the same color and size as the previous summer’s visitor, with the same unusual behaviors. A sense of profound connection to me was obvious; it trusted me. I was delighted. Had it survived a Maine winter or had Dad sent a replacement? When the second late fall arrived, the dragonfly disappeared. I sensed that our adventure had ended.

    I don’t know what language a dragonfly speaks, but Dad and I both understand.  And my future research revealed dragonflies can live 2-3 years, even through hard winters. Wow!

    Contemplating why Dad would step out of the woods at that particular moment, I smiled as I remembered his advice to me when I began mowing the lawn: “Don’t ever mow the lawn when you’re home alone. If an accident happened, you might not be able to get help.” Protective father he was, and I know he’s still watching over me.