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DRAGONFLY LOUNGE

The rice fields up here on Pure Land Mountain are now reaching their epitome of goldness, as the dull brown stubbly ranks of shaven fields draw ever closer up the mountainside. Here the fields in the afternoon sun are still the color of treasure, the rice heads spilling over like handfuls of tiny gold coins gleaming in the sun. Above that luxurious treasurehouse, at least the one across the road from us, the shimmering blue-gold air is filled with clouds of dragonflies, who apparently find this field, and the warm hazy sundriven updrafts from its goldness, the ideal place to congregate on glassine wings for a late summer afternoon drift and glide and random buzz, carry on the kind of airy zipzip conversation dragonflies simply live for.