We’re on our way to Mount Rogers, the high point of Virginia. A minor traffic slowdown develops on the highway in front of us, who knows why. We crawl along. The vehicle we follow is a Mercedes Benz, painted one of those alcoholic colors that’s hard to define, like “champagne” or “whiskey beige.” I wonder if it’s the color or some other attractant that brings in the dragonfly who is flirting with the car. It circles and for the briefest instant touches down on the trunk hood. It circles again and for only an instant, touches the car again. And then again, and again and again. Something’s going on here. Maybe they’re dancing, the bug and the vehicle. The line of cars moves. The dragonfly stays with the Mercedes. Persistent little bugger.