The Garden Has Other Plans

I thought I knew where the morning light would fall. I put my chair there, settled the troublesome leg, opened the book. By half past nine the shade had found me. Across the path a woman was photographing something smaller than my thumbnail. I asked her what it was. She told me. I forgot. She showed me on the screen: six legs, a folded wing, a green so bright I looked again at the ordinary leaf. We stood beside it for a little while. Then she went on, and I moved my chair three feet to the left. The book remained at the same page until lunchtime.