Every morning when the sun's been shining, I've been greeted by an incredible sight: one or two, but sometimes a small squadron, of bee-sized flies hovering magically in place. They'll stay in the same place for 10 seconds or more and then, lightning fast, disappear, only to apparate, a la J.K. Rowling, in a new place in the sun. Before the woods across the way were destroyed, there used to be several clearings in that deeply missed forest that would reliably sport of crop of these magical Hover Flies, and sometimes I'd even be able to get decent enough photographs of the amazing fliers. Happily, the flies—I'm not yet certain of the species—survived the "improvement" and resurfaced in the refuge I call a yard. I now have better photographic equipment to capture them in flight, and I really should work up the nerve to capture one and cool it off in the refrigerator long enough to come up with a positive ID. For now, the photograph is enough.