"Time is for dragonflies and angels. The former live too little and the latter live too long."
— James Thurber
Today is a dragonfly day. After interminable rainy days, the sun shines today and everyone moves around optimistically. In my little mountain town, crews are pouring concrete, shop owners move their sale items out to the sidewalks. People emerge, blinking in the unaccustomed glare of the sun to make good on their exercise resolutions, pinched a bit in their too-new sneakers. Birds sing the songs they have stored up all summer long, flinging their hearts skyward. Our waterlogged souls answer, and we linger over cups of coffee on decks which only yesterday were rain-slicked and all but unusable.
Time is a funny thing. Dragonfly time or angel time, no middle ground. In June, there was so much time to squander that we threw it away in large handfuls on road trips to places too far-flung to visit in the drudgery of May. Now, in August, there is no time. I light, dragonfly-like, on this or that activity, but I know that the days are numbered. My sister sends me instagram photos of things entitled, "Goodbye Beignets" and "Goodbye Cobbler". Her daughter leaves for college in less than a week. She is saying goodbye, but she is also saying, "Why are we dragonflies? When these children were born we thought there were angel days."
This morning, when I awoke, I was sending a happy child off to college. So many states away that I don't even regard it anymore. His things lie piled in the office, a small mountain of anticipation for the independence to come. His room is a museum of his childhood, a stuffed animal at the head of his bed, his closet a mass of carefully-packed-away mementoes.
I flit over this like a dragonfly. This day is too precious to waste.
I wish you joy in the beauty of this day.
