Andrea Sanborn

I walk down my driveway and a multitude of dragonflies lift and glide around me, silent and shining like the morning. I’m glad to see them, knowing that they feed on the plentiful Minnesota mosquitos.

They fill the space around me, fluttering in the yard, resting on the patio, basking on the trees as they soak in the day’s warmth. They speak to me of blessings; of reminders to hope, to live in grace offered, gratefully received.

I think of angels, of their unseen multitudes, sent to guard and guide as we go about our days unaware. We are never unnoticed. Never overlooked. Never alone.

I imagine the dragonflies carrying my prayers, angelic messengers hovering near my loved ones, hastening on seraph wings to the hurting, keeping company with the lonely, their fragile wings reflecting the light of heaven.

I stand among the dragonflies hovering in evening’s light, rejoicing in the remains of the day, and lift my thanks to heaven. I accept the gift of their gentle presence, reminding me that I live in the company of heaven; watching, guarding, urging me onward. Guiding me home.