|Dragonfly by Fallen Brewing Co.|
I've just a had bottle of Dragonfly by Fallen Brewing Company.
It was superb. You know what, I kinda knew it would be.
It came from Kippen, a lovely wee village overlooked by the Fintry Hills near Stirling. Just say the name. Kippen. Sounds magical. Imagine you were from there. Kippen. Imagine telling folk you were from there. Your first date. Job interview. Police. Kippen.
Now think of a dragonfly. You're outside on a hot day. Imagine a light wind, some clouds up there. Cirrus and cumulous, drifting lazily, high and far away. You're by a wee stream, sunlight scattering on the water; oaks and beech and elm resting haphazard along its banks. Roots reaching into the river; above, the canopy casting shadows across the water - that's where the brownies are. You can see them rise now and again. But you're sitting on grass by the water's edge, your socks and shoes off, jeans rolled up, the water dripping off your toes hanging inches about the surface.
The breeze carries with it a sweetness from flowers unseen but nearby, a fragrance of pine and tablet. Maybe a hint of citrus. You've a couple of beers cooling in the water, stacked in a safe spot by the dam you built with rocks. You're about to go and reach for one of the bottles when you spot it darting over the water. Its bright Irn-Bru blue capturing the light so it appears almost neon, fluorescent. It's the length of your pinky. You watch it, entranced. Beer forgotten. You watch it, eyes focused, as it darts back and forth, here and there, in and out of shade. A fish rises. A bird calls. Then it's one last dash from the dragonfly and it's lost among those ancient trees. You reach for your beer. Open the bottle. A Dragonfly, and it's as beautiful as the day itself.