If she laid her egg sack, which she most likely has, I have not seen her. Every year she comes and I paint her image, or take her picture. From the pool mesh fence I take her and let her crawl over my shoulders. This year only she indirectly shows herself. A floating exoskeleton on top of clear pool water, or images from friends. Her Praying Mantis tree with the beautiful purple anarchy flowers are as a waterfall and arbor waiting for her return.
She will be golden green, large and graceful now. She facing death. I wear her tattoo on my left wrist. The purple anarchy flower. Last night at a local club again she told me that I was at the right time and place. I was meant to be here, even though she was not. The leather jacket with silver studs addressed me.
The young man stood in front of me. There splashed upon his back, drawn and painted, is her anarchy flower. Holding up my wrist I knew it to be true. I tapped the young tall man on the shoulder and showed him the image. He acknowledged it and the music blew through and around us. The longitude and latitude the continuity of life. It was all meant to be, I was where I was meant to be…. but she was not there.
I came across a mantis the other day, hanging onto a tire on my camper down the road, when I walked up to her she skewed her head around to her left looking at me but not moving almost as if she were trying to decide how long a feast I would be or if she should invite friends over first. She was green along her body with light green eyes. I left her there while I went inside the camper and when I returned she was gone, which is too bad for I was thinking of bringing her to the house to feast on the insects that were around.
You did well by her… she might know you pretty good…