Yesterday my daughter Sarah and I were sitting on the porch. She said casually, "there's a praying mantis on the shutter."

I dashed into the house to get my camera and began snapping photos.

The mantis was patient. Maybe the mantis was suspicious. Whatever the case he remained motionless staring into my lens.

I believe it is a good omen to see a praying mantis on your porch. Not the kind of omen that predicts the future. I think of omens in my mind, that is I carry my own definition. Omen–a signpost, a reminder, a direction.

And the reminder is?

The direction is?

I wake up early in the mornings and come out onto the porch where I sit and enjoy the quiet. I hear crickets and blue jays.

Lately I watch for the occasional leaf drifting down from my neighbors oak tree across the street.

Cars come and go. People walk their dogs. I am the watcher, the listener.

This praying mantis, maybe I saw her in June, a tiny fragile little thing, jumping around on the hanging basket of fern. Airy, nearly invisible and almost totally without substance; I thought nothing, except "You're good for the garden."

It is a mystery of seasons, especially fall, and insects deliver the cryptic message, the cryptic question of time and meaning.

I said to my new friend, "Where have you been since June? Where and how did you survive? And how is it that this morning you show up on my porch a full adult, announce your presence and pose for pictures?"

"Where are you now?"