Just in front of me, on the shore, tiny black bugs skim the surface of the water. They dart back and forth in unpredictable formations, as if bouncing like they were playing pong. The smaller bugs, mere dots, cluster together next to the shore, afraid to move too far into the water. The larger ones, presumably their parents, loosely encircle their offspring, moving their larger limbs to cover the longer distances further in the river.
Perhaps the movement pattern is like what their airborne counterparts do but limited to two axes. I look up from the swimming bugs and notice gnats flying over the river, visible only from the morning sunlight filtering through the trees. A small, redheaded dragonfly zooms past me, hovering next to the flowers blooming between the tall grasses to my left.
The river, swimming lazily, lightly ripples in several directions. I am surrounded by river rock, with plenty of flat stones, the kind that are perfect for skipping across water. I am half-inclined to toss one in and count the number of skips. However, to disturb the water this early, on a morning like this, would be in poor taste. Instead, I shall continue sitting and meditating.