Last updated on August 8, 2025
Yesterday, I floated weightless in the pool, the sun warming my face, the water holding me like a memory too precious to drop.
I wasn’t swimming. I wasn’t trying to do anything. I was simply being. Letting my breath lead the way. Letting thoughts rise and fall like clouds drifting across a Texas sky.
It was quiet. Sacred, even.
And then something unexpected happened.
A dragonfly landed gently on my nose.
Yes. Right on the tip of my nose.
She didn’t hover or dart away like dragonflies so often do. She landed as if to say, “You are doing it right. Keep still. Stay soft.”
She wasn’t afraid. In fact, she seemed curious. As if she knew she had arrived at peace.
She lingered for a moment, fluttered up and around me, and then—just when I thought the magic had ended—she returned. This time, she chose to rest on my fingertips.
And there we were. Two souls, quiet and present.
We observed one another, neither in a hurry to leave the moment. And something about it felt profoundly honoring. Like she knew what I was offering—stillness, safety, reverence—and she met it with her own presence.
Dragonflies have always carried meaning for me. They symbolize transformation, emotional depth, lightness of being. They are messengers between worlds, between phases of life, between who we were and who we are becoming.
And there she was, not in a book or a quote or a symbol, but in real life. Sitting gently in the palm of my hand.
She did not rush. She did not question. She trusted the stillness.
And in doing so, she mirrored back everything I have been trying to learn lately.
That maybe peace is not something we go out and find. Maybe it is something we create within ourselves.
That beauty notices us when we stop chasing it.
That nature, in all her wild wisdom, responds not to our control, but to our calm.
That presence is an invitation. And trust is a response.
In that moment, I didn’t need an answer. I didn’t need to move. I only needed to receive what was already arriving.
So today, I carry her with me.
That tiny, glimmering dragonfly soul.
Her grace. Her trust. Her gentle reminder that we are never separate from the sacred. We are not disconnected from magic. We are not too busy to be noticed.
We just have to be still enough to let it land.
And maybe that’s the kind of transformation that changes everything—not the loud one, not the dramatic one, but the soft one that arrives without fanfare and teaches us how to breathe again.
Maybe healing doesn’t always look like action. Maybe, sometimes, it looks like floating in warm water on a quiet day, listening for the whisper of wings.
And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.
About the Author
Leslie Nance is a Holistic Cancer Coach, Certified Holistic Nutritionist, speaker, and author. She helps women heal with clarity, courage, and soul. Writing and teaching about mindset, wellness, and living a life that feels as good on the inside as it looks on the outside.
