Two sets of wings shimmered as the dragonflies, lifted by invisible currents, danced overhead locked in an ancient ritual and she watched from the ground, the sun caressing her skin.
Warming morning rays have not yet reached her tissue-paper-thin wings. She is caught, immobile.
Strangers gather atop the bluff. Brought together to celebrate the light. Bound together by food, drink and laughter—they celebrated not just the light in the sky, but that in each other as well.
The sun rises. Red with possibility.