The Dragonfly’s Condition

I trapped the dragonfly in my fist. I looked at it: it was nothing but a long blackness, dull, motionless wings stuck to it. I opened my fist: it took wing, circled over the pond among the tall, thick reeds, in the rays of the daytime sun; color, color, rainbow, endless, shining and pristine, seeped from it again: from the joyful motion of its wings in its free flight...