We found larvae carapaces on the side of the house, the stem of a butterfly bush at water's edge, even 10 feet up a tree far from shore. The older children would run about in the early morning making a game of finding the signs of the previous night's hatch.
We had an opportunity to watch one pump open its wings, let them dry, and fly off. We also saw several that had some irrevocable accident. One that fell into a shoe, another with a crumpled wing, both never to fly.
The dragon fly became a symbol for me of the dramatic transformation a parent must go through with the addition of a second child. I made a wall quilt for Miss and bought a dragonfly ornament for our Christmas tree.
The dragonflies are here again this summer. They remind me that miraculous transformation is possible. I, for one, discover myself in the midst of another self reinvention and Miss has emerged from her shell, showing she is leaving behind her childish ways and ready for middle school in the fall.
Perhaps those times that change seems to take forever are like the immature dragonfly's crawl. We head towards a place we won't know until we get there and suddenly find ourselves transformed and reborn.