We hold our breath, sitting as still
as a freeway during morning commute.
Its wings flutter at a possible
eighty times per second, so we’ve read.

It closes the distance between us,
and we know it eyes the dangling
rosy petals. But below those blossoms
lies the sleeping dog. He wouldn’t be
the least bit interested in the winged
creature, but the winged creature
doesn’t know this to be true.

And so, we watch our tiny friend
flit to within a few feet of the blooms,
then disappointment lands in our thoughts
as it retreats to the maple,
camouflaged to the naked eye.

If only it could be brave.
If only it knew there was no threat below
from the sleeping beast. In fact, the beast
quietly snores, and we are confident
he is dreaming of squirrels. 

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.