If I were to drive an hour
at high speeds
and leave the freeway
pass a reservoir
and wind up past large ranch homes
into the golden hills
i could get to a smallish parking area
i could get a permit for the wild
i could throw on my pack and head up a road
down a road
then up over a bit of a mountain
past blue oaks and huge manzanitas and madrones
to a pond where the woodpeckers dance in reflections
i could rise over another bit of a mountain
and then plunge into a deep canyon
a thousand feet down
and, just before the road climbed another thousand feet up,
i would find a creek named coyote
dripping its way down the canyon
if i walked up about 50 yards
i would find a huge boulder,
leaning against two trees
in the shade of that boulder
beside the creek
i would sit upon a sandy beach
in the hot, dusty, buggy summer
it would be cool, soft, nearly mosquitoless
i would gaze into a quiet pool
where water striders dance across the surface
and i would see a large rock
covered in ladybugs
occasionally one would get too close to the water
and fall in
flailing for a moment
until scooped up by a water skiing strider
taking the ladybug like a pigskin
and racing down the field with its prize
another ladybug falls in (just wanted a drink of water)
the next strider races up,
carries it off
on the water they are the superior design
big, strapping athletes
they laugh at the flailing ladies
but suddenly their smirks evaporate
the air is alive with vibration
a dragonfly!
it pounds through the air, stops, hovers, scans,
zooms off
oh mama, what technology!
the striders go back to their catcalls and showing off
skating about their lake with the greatest of ease
the ladybugs huddle, scheming,
they are pooling their money
to hire a dragonfly
