The other day I mentioned that hordes of insects were emerging from Goose Lake but I hadn’t spotted any to identify. I guessed they were damselflies. Turns out that’s what they are. Here’s one that posed for me yesterday.
These dainty little meat eaters lay their eggs in fresh water and when the nymph is ready, it rises to the surface, splits out of its skin, and flies away, often into the waiting jaws of fish or beaks of birds.
Goose Lake is having quite an event. Insects of some sort (yet to be identified) are emerging in large numbers, making the water look like it’s raining. Swifts dart across the surface, gorging on the protein treats. Their beaks leave small tears in the water that instantly heal themselves. My phone camera can’t do it justice, but here’s the best I can do.
Two evenings ago Sandy and I were sitting lake side for a sundowner when we had an unexpected visitor.
The yellowjacket must have been a wine connoisseur because it went right to work investigating my chardonnay. 
Eventually it gave up and left. I didn’t mind the visit and I didn’t mind a single yellowjacket. If I start seeing more, though, I’ll go in search of their tunnel. Last time I stepped too close to a hidden nest I got nailed three or four times before I could move away.
I love it when Goose Lake challenges the sky for our amusement. 
The sky, with infinite palette at its disposal,
Decorates its face in pink and blue.
The lake, knowing it can do that too,
Looks up and makes the sky a friendly proposal.
The sky, with all its glorious resources,
Accepts and turns the end of day aglow.
The lake, with placid confidence below,
Repeats each nuanced masterpiece that courses
Across the heaven’s briefly lit display.
As evening drops the curtain on the stage,
The actors, now grown bleary, disengage.
We, in grateful silence, toast the day.
(c) David L. Harrison
Yesterday morning Sandy and I sat by a living room window to read the paper and have our coffee. Just beyond the glass, on a patio chair cushion, a small creature was at rest in the weak sunlight. I kept looking at it, trying to decide if it was a spider or a large fly. To see a fly remain in one spot so long is uncommon. I wondered if I might be watching a fly in the process of dying. Not that it mattered much but I was curious enough to invest twenty minutes of observation.
I happened to mention it to my M.O.W., who immediately got up, opened the door, said “fly,” and smacked at it with a napkin. I watched the insect zip away safely, leaving behind a tiny dark spot on the cushion. My curiosity ended just short of going out to investigate the gift. For one thing, it was on the chair she sits in, next to mine.
