Thumbelina and the Dragonfly of Salvation

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The afternoon lay heavy on the pond, as if the light no longer wished to travel. Thumbelina sat on her trapped leaf, its edges held by reeds like iron bars. She still had the needle in her hand, but the mother toad was close, and her son crouched on the bank as if counting the breaths that brought him closer to a bride. Insects buzzed around her, and every dragonfly that flew by seemed like a promise she couldn't grasp. Then, almost inaudibly, the largest of them swooped down. Her wings were transparent like stained-glass windows in a cathedral of wind, and the sunlight refracted into rainbow fragments within them. Her eyes, faceted a thousand times, held the entire sky within them, and her body shone green and blue, as if the water itself had decided to learn to fly. She sat close to Thumbelina and spoke in a language made up not of words, but of vibrations and glances. Yet Thumbelina understood her, as one sometimes understands a song whose lyrics one has never learned. "Help me," whispered Thumbelina, "before the night shackles me." The dragonfly inclined its head, and it was as if summer itself nodded. With a powerful flap of its wings, it released the reed stalk that held the leaf. The water swayed, the leaf turned, and a tear of freedom ran across the still surface of the pond. The mother toad croaked in alarm, her son leaped heavily into the water, but her movements were clumsy compared to the dragonfly's lightness. The dragonfly carefully slid its thin legs under the leaf, lifted it, and then, with a strength one would never have expected from such a fragile-looking body, it pulled Thumbelina and her swaying boat out of the corridor of reeds. At one point, the toad's son almost touched the leaf, but the dragonfly rose high, so fast that only the splash of its failed leaps remained. The pond was soon behind them, a shining disc beneath clouds, and the toads seemed so distant, as if they were mere specks in an old fairytale book. The wind caught Thumbelina's hair, and she clung to the needle as if it were the rudder of an invisible ship. "Thank you," she breathed, and the dragonfly responded with a humming sound that sounded like a smile. Together they flew over meadows where poppies waved their red dresses, over streams that sparkled as if they were on their way to becoming stars, and over fields that lay in long rows like songs. Thumbelina saw for the first time how vast the world could be, and her heart no longer beat with fear, but with a new, sweet excitement. They rested at the edge of a wood, where fern leaves jutted into the darkness like gates. The dragonfly lowered Thumbelina onto a stone, cool and smooth with shadow. "Why are you helping me?" Thumbelina asked, her voice trembling, not with fear, but with wonder.