The day Emerson died, July 1, 2019, dragonflies in multiple, magnificent manifestations danced on the pond where Emmy loved to swim. All that summer, they sunned themselves on the warm, stone bench built in his memory before flying to find a mate before it was too late. I could feel Em sitting with me in puppy dog delight.
Dragonflies have long been a symbol of change, hope, and love. Living without Emerson has been a big change. His picture is on my desk. His ashes are on my meditation altar in an urn decorated with dragonflies.
When I sauntered up to the pond one warm, late-spring morning this year, I found a dragonfly in the grass by the water in front of Emerson’s bench. Its iridescent, purple wings were not yet dry. Rather than fly away, it climbed onto my outstretched hand and let me lift it to my face. Amazed, I looked into its bulging eyes. Deep hope swelled in my heart.
As if I was talking with Em, I asked aloud, “What do you want me to know, Love-Bug?”
I am with you always, everywhere. I left life to set you free. Choose change. Have hope. Live love.
Weeks later, dragonflies flew once again over the pond—all black-and-white, no shining iridescence. Strong storms blew through, leaving little rain to water the forget-me-nots, spiderwort, and daisies by Emmy’s bench. Biting bugs abounded. A dead frog lay mangled in the grass. Hardly hopeful.
That night, the sheets were changed on my bed. The blue dragonfly pattern welcomed me to rest, to write, to read, and then to dream…
Yesterday was July 4—Independence Day. Personal fireworks littered the lake last night. Greensboro’s Funky Fourth Parade was the day before in cold rain. The Town’s fireworks are scheduled for tonight. They are never on the fourth. We get a discount.
There were no dragonflies on the pond this morning. I picked the last of this year’s sparse asparagus. The rest will go to seed for next year’s crop. The late peonies bowed their heavy heads. Deer and horse flies dove in for a tasty morsel of me. Walking makes me wonder.
What change would dragonflies have us choose?
What hope do they hold for us to see?
How do they trust us enough to love ourselves and each other into new and positive possibilities?
What do dragonflies dream?