Fall fly, you poor immobile beast, cool weather has clipped your wings. No darting, no buzzing like before; just a quiet hanging out, life in the fast lane reduced to inaction; a lurking, a crawling, perhaps interrupted by a short hop, but only when disturbed.
But I am disturbed no more. No stalking is needed now; no hunting with swatter in hand. No quick reflexes either; only a not-too-guilty conscience which allows me to easily snuff that same opponent who would have left me with a sense of accomplishment just weeks before, now merely another yawn.