Pistons of some bright machine
A mayfly from a long forgotten spring,
in some species the adults live only a few minutes.
Richard Wilbur in the poem “Mayflies” found them:
“the weavers of some cloth of gold,
Or the fine pistons of some bright machine.”










A very delicate and beautiful creature.
All the more reason to mate in mid-air, Michael.
Life lived in an instant. Timeless. Priceless.
Thanks Denice. I’d like to weave wings like those.
Like a crystal figurine . . . Stunning!
Thanks Jason. An inspiration for Tiffany and Chihuly.
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