The Fish God

Yesterday we took the small boy to Fish Creek Park to splash in the water, tread softly in silent pine groves and just generally try to elude civilization for a while. We threw rocks into the water, skipped stones, played a variety of one-note wonders on an old recorder, ate chips and danced away from anxious wasps just beginning to sense The End.

At one point we looked up to notice a sturdy blonde child of about 2 wading in the creek alone--her young Russian mother sauntered up eventually, but was very unconcerned that her daughter was stomping around in knee-high water, charging up small waterfalls and clutching at darting minnows who seemed intent on leading her into depths not conducive to toddler life. And I could see why; this girl was clearly mistress of it all, solid, stolid, in charge, and not to be suspected of tipping over and drowning. She wore on her little pink face a scowl worthy of Boris Yeltsin that communicated quite clearly her relationship with the larger world around her.

Suddenly, Luke noticed a large cobalt dragonfly that had swooped too low to the water and was struggling in the current and headed towards tiny rapids that would probably finish it off. So I did what I had to do: shucked the Tevas and waded in. The dragonfly's grip on my finger was quite mighty for something made of nothing, basically; it was so clearly relieved to be finished with the swimming and so intent on clinging to solid me that I had trouble shaking it off on dry land. Then I called to the children to come see where it rested, gleaming in the sun with its strange square black head. One of nature's magic creatures.

The little Russian girl picked up a stone and before I could do anything, squished the dragonfly under it.

I think the Fish God made her do it.