A shadow passed over the Rose of Sharon and disappeared.
I waited.
I knew how to daydream out my studio window. I’ve waited for bees in the morning and bats at twilight. The only thing different now was that this was the middle of the day, high noon, or as I like to think of it, prime viewing time for butterflies.
So I waited.
And the Cloudless Sulfur fluttered back into view.
I held my breath, admiring the yellow wings tipped in black. I watched it dip into the blossoms, take a quick sip, and teeter, drunk on pollen into the neighbors’ yard and out of view.
It was a good moment, seeing my papery friend.
I wish I could recall every single butterfly I have ever seen. I do remember:
Monarchs on milkweed by the side the road in Wisconsin
Southern Hairstreaks along the Withalacoochie in Florida
Tiger Swallowtails in my backyard in North Carolina
Buckeyes along the C&O in Maryland
I wish butterflies had the power to quiet all human noise.
For a moment, I imagine a butterfly heroine. Her wings have super strength. She can lift all the leaf blowers and the guns and send them back into the guts of the earth, back into fire, where they are melted, burned down to ash. Then she flies back up, and all we hear is the flutter of wings.
I know how to daydream out my studio window.
I can fill my brain with butterflies.
