The Butterfly

I mentioned in Wednesday's post about my frustration with losing ideas before I can capture them and make them real and complete.

I was thinking about that today ~ as I tried to chase my way back through moments of inspiration that had spawned something beautiful, but which I had lost ~ when this new idea landed in my mind. This time I sat down quietly and captured it.


The Butterfly

On the flower I saw it flitter
Spotted wings of colour flapping
Slowly down, then up to pause
Maybe eating... but by no means napping
For it saw or smelt or felt me watching
Then sprung with life and leapt to flight
With me scrambling after, like a clumsy giant
Desperate to keep the thing in sight

I lost it for a moment...
Then locked it again into my gaze
And saw that it was floating lower
Onto a crumbling bail of hay
So I slowed, hoping to get up close
To capture this unique, delicate thing
In a photo, so it would not be forgotten
As a feather disappearing with the wind

I was almost there
I could make out lines and spots - red, orange, brown
When suddenly with bark and huff
Bounded over a hapless hound
The butterfly took off again
And distracted by this bag of fleas
That wondrous little creature
Very soon could not be seen

So I sat, forlorn, with filth-licked face
Against the remaining bail of hay
and before me flowed the field and hills
With trees in peaceful sway
All around was endless beauty
Sun and skies - blue, yellow, green
And as I smiled and exhaled a long slow breath
A butterfly landed on my knee