Spring, in my part of the world, comes in riding a storm. This is what it leaves behind. My shutter was too slow to capture the dragonfly's taking of flight. What is not pictured is the futility of the transformation of this earth's inhabitants come spring. New storms are on the horizon and their flesh-splitting winter dry is only days away. The euphoria and sense of life are only attached by micron threads to a whilting pod. But I can not take flight. I must endure a lie and watch helplessly as one seed of hope detaches, one after the next. And then again barren, left to contemplate the change without change is an earth ready to die.
