Yesterday on my morning walk, a butterfly flew by me and lit on a leaf. I stopped to watch it, because it was really unique--its wings were mainly an iridescent blue spotted with the white dots of a monarch. The edges of its wings were rimmed with window panes of rust. It was beautiful. After I admired it for a couple of minutes, it flew over and landed on my arm, and we hung out for a few minutes before it flew away.
|The butterfly sort of looked like this...but not quite...but you get the idea.|
I wondered if that monarchesque insect would eventually become a full-fledged monarch with orange wings and if monarchs, once they break free from their chrysalis, continue to change their form.
I thought about this image all day. I listened to songs about loss and change, particularly Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' The Boatman's Call.
Not sure if this link is working...but look it up
on YouTube if you're so inclined. :)
And this morning, I wrote a poem.
That Blue Bloom
Stumbling over rugs in the house of dawn, I
Listen for your song on the wind. Many days
find me waiting: a face drawn in an upstairs
window, watchful eyes seeking your shade
cruising down my street on a motorcycle, in
a truck, on a bicycle, on rollerblades or foot.
Outside, the sun rises and sets, splaying rays
on grass carpets rippled by Zephrys’ breath.
Feathers in hand, whorls of sage smoke rise,
prayers slip through my lips, and longing
beats its tired wings, flying towards a world
from which you watch, face drawn in a cloud.
© Kate McClure 2014