The Dragonfly
The puddles were deep and flowed together so the sidewalk carried a current. As I watched my feet get soaked through my shoes, I saw the flutter and the struggle. I kept walking, but stopped three paces later. It was a dragonfly, knocked down by gigantic raindrops, flight grounded, in the middle of where big things walked. I went back and searched for that flutter and held my umbrella over it. I knew not to touch those delicate wings, so important to its survival. In the grey overcast and fog of the rainstorming, the green sparkle hummed. I picked it up gently by its tail and placed it in my palm, feeling the iridescent ridges of its body. It fluttered its wings violently, perhaps to shake off the rain, perhaps in fear. I explained what I was doing, just in case it understood, and I carried it to to a lamppost where I sat it upon a dry perch, away from the flooding water and big feet. I did not wait to see if it recovered, but I left it with hope that in my own time of despair, some one will rescue me and carry me to the light.
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