I went to our outside watering hole to wash my hands. The translucent wing of a young dragonfly was stuck like tape to the orange bottle of dishwashing soap. You could see the veins of the delicate wings sparkle in the morning sunlight, like a freshly spun spiderweb gleaming in the light. His thread thin legs clung to the wooden pole, as if trying to support himself and break free. I imagined it probably felt like hanging there from your hair, your scalp in pain, follicles screaming to break free, giant hands coming at you, please don’t smash me, please don’t hurt me! I meant to help him but my hands were wet and I went to dry them off, for fear I might further damage his wings, and got busy and forgot. It was like that all day, same story – just a different interruption. The dragonfly was still alive and hanging there in the evening, as the sun was setting. I finally set him free.