When Old World cartographers ran out of known territory, they would put a warning on their maps, "Beyond this place there be dragons," definitely more scary than "Do not enter." On opening the gate to the goat pen yesterday, there they were: dragon(flies). Where there had been none, overnight squadrons had massed in the heated air over the pen. Hovering, rising, circling, darting back and forth like the helicopters they so remind me of. I'm always glad to see the dragonflies arrive, and not just for their aerial acrobatics. They feed on the clouds of tiny, irritating midges that dance before my and the goats' eyes at this time of year.
Since discovering the tiny lump that sent me on this latest journey, I've often felt that somewhere in the reams of information given there should be printed, "Beyond this place there be dragons," as it certainly requires a step off into the unknown. Next will come five years of anti-hormone therapy, a pill a day, and whatever side effects that brings. This for someone who, if I take a half-dozen aspirin a year, it's a bad year. Once again I'm going into uncharted waters.
So far, so good.