Firstly: dragonflies are simply… pretty badass.

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Like little stealthy ninja ballerinas or something. The peacock’s plus-one to costume parties. With their iridescent colors and variations, and intriguing build, they are mesmerizing. Flitting about over the water, the sun glinting as much off the greens and blues of their wings as the ripples below, they are unique and enchanting.

 

Secondly: as an author, my writing has been molded by the hands of loss.

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As is the case for many creatives, darkness can be illuminating. “Dragonflies appear when angels are near;” seemingly a mainstream sentiment these days, the root of its meaning predominantly comes from the Native American belief that the dragonfly is a symbol of departed souls, a glimpse behind the thin veil between life and death. In likeness, my writing attempts to transcend loss by bringing to life those who now only reside in my heart.

 

Thirdly: in many cultures this inspiring insect represents maturity, transformation, light, and rebirth. There are no better descriptions of how the process of writing changes my soul, my essence. With every word I meet the page anew, never the same person I was when I wrote the preceding sentence.