The Butterfly’s One Summer
The butterfly had seen its one summer. The sunlight that shone from its wings newly unfurled now passed through the tattered network left from too much flying. One last flight in the sunshine, high up in the ranges to rest at last amongst the flowers and remember.
Remember the breezes that carried it away from home and to love. That whirlwind romance. Sipping nectar from rare flowers beneath the blazing summer sun. Its wings of the finest tissue carrying it onwards, each beat slowing tearing them to tatters. Yet to fly in the sunshine, to love in the sunshine…and to die in the sunshine…who could want more?
And then the last imperceptible flutter of the wings and a short fall to the earth, wind rustling the wings like scraps of torn paper.
And so the butterfly’s one summer ends and the breeze that rustled the wings moves on, and if you look closely you can see the faintest shape of a perfect butterfly riding the wind into the sunlight.