Last weekend, I spent a day at the beach with my parents. While laying out on my towel, reading Zadie Smith's On Beauty, I noticed a dragonfly hovering near my feet. Eventually it joined me at the head, as if to let us get a better look at each other. I wanted badly to get the camera out of my backpack, but feared that any motion would scare off the dragonfly.

A little later, I repositioned myself for lunch; despite the movement, the dragonfly remained close. As my parents and I ate leftovers, a strong gust of wind ripped the flimsy plate from my father's hands and covered me in salad dressing, bits of lettuce and bacon, and egg yolk. I thought, surely the dragonfly is gone now.

Although it had disappeared during the salad toss, the dragonfly dutifully returned and resumed sitting on my book. I don't know if it was my brightly colored towel that drew it close, or whether this was merely a beach dragonfly, who, like a city pigeon, is accustomed to and unimpressed by people. This time I thought, if it's willing to bear flying vegetables, it will remain in place while I get my camera.

I asked my mother to pass me the camera, and I began taking pictures. The dragonfly didn't seem to mind having the relatively giant silver contraption intrude on its personal space, with its giant eye blinking every ten seconds. The perfect model, it sat on the corner of my book for two minutes while I took pictures, and remained there even after I had finished.

Tomorrow we're off to the beach again, probably to the same strip of sand. Here's hoping for a second sighting.