DIRT DABBER


Last week
I was swimming in the river
where the flow
was a bit too swift
for me.

With some effort
I swam over to the far shore
into a small cove
and held on
to an overhanging willow branch.

As I was resting there
a little yellow and black wasp—
we called them dirt dabbers back
where I grew up—
flew past me
and up to the muddy bank
nipped off a tiny ball of clay
and flew off with it.

I was enchanted.

And as I marveled
at this amazing feat
the dirt dabber return
bit off another dot
of clay
and took flight once more.

Over the next ten minutes
or so
my miniature friend flew in
and out
four more times
and I remained transfixed.

I felt so fortunate
to be
at just this right spot
at just this right time.

Timing is everything.


Lilith Rogers
August 25th, 2008