I was on the corner of 149th and Stony Plain, waiting at the stop light when a dragonfly flitted past my windshield. He was on odd thing—obviously caught in wind gusts I could neither see nor hear, his straight path would take a sudden, traumatic dive left or right, and I watched him constantly, valiantly trying to get back to his original flight.
And I wondered about the significance of this.
This quarter of 2011 has been particularly hard on everyone. Everywhere I look, I see or hear about death: a family member, a friend, a job, a relationship, a home…dying seems the theme for the world.
And I watched the dragonfly and felt a kinship with him, for him.
We all seem to be tossed by winds no one can see or hear, gusts of cold breath that are pushing us off our original paths.
But there is a lesson to be learned by my friend.
He never hit ground, he never gave up. He just kept flapping his wings, harder at some points than others, but flapping nonetheless, trying to get back to his journey and not letting the thing he couldn’t control dictate his altitude or attitude.