Creeksong

I found him in the dogwater. Laid out flat, floating half way under the water. He was dead for sure. But my determination to save everybody in trouble made me reach out a finger and fish him out anyway. He was dead, for sure. I held him up to my lips and begin softly blowing on him. No life, I was undaunted. I gave him a little push on the butt. It didn't work. Blowing again. I don't know why I kept trying, but I kept remembering that breath was magic. More blowing. Nothing. Trying again. Dead. Four minutes had had passed slowly, and I was starting to feel stupid for persisting. I pushed his ass again. Did that leg move a little bit? It had never taken so long to revive a bug. It did! It moved. More breath. More pokes. Once they decide there's no hope, they give up and just die. But I wasn't giving up. Another foot came out. Five minutes. He was definitely alive, but still refusing to move. He wouldn't believe it. I pushed again, and he took a step forward. He was OK, and he knew it. Still he didn't fly. Gratitude? Do bugs feel gratitude? I already know the answer to this. OK, lets test it, I said and headed inside to get the camera. He stuck all the way through and back outside again. Commin' up on twenty minutes. He was on my right hand and the Nikon is right handed only. My left hand kept covering the focusing port, and it wouldn't fire. Here came the test. I pushed off onto my left hand, expecting him to fly. He let me, and just sat there, as he waited for me to get the camera ready. CLICK! CLICK! The lens was loud! Six pictures and he didn't fly. Over twenty minutes on my hand till I forced him to fly. I know gratitude when I see it.