As I gave the mosquitos their first Hannah's-ankles-feast of the year, I tried to look at my surroundings as through a camera. Dorothea Lange (famed photographer of "Migrant Mother") could see a photograph in any common object, and supposedly said to someone sitting near her deathbed, "I've just photographed you." Thinking of that, and Hark the Heron's suggestion to slow down and just watch what's right around you, I gazed around the patio, across the highway, at the table. A bug divebombed my hand and died on the table. It was a funny-looking bug, like a bit of bark with trailing wings. I blew on it gently and it rolled a few inches across the table. I guess some bugs in spring pretty much hatch, fly, mate, and die, falling out of the air for no particular reason other than they have no more purpose for living. For a moment I gazed across the highway again, trying to see a picture in a shaded house. When I looked back, the bug had revived. It glided across the table, regaining its sense of direction, then took a running leap back into the warm and wild evening. I got a picture of it on my cell phone just before it flew, but timing did not make up for poor equipment, and all you see in the picture is a reddish crumb. But I'm glad for the encouragement of other artists not to rush moments, but to watch for something simply interesting right under my nose.