By Lynne Goldsmith
October meets butterflies’
linger in their tortoiseshell design
familiar by the hundreds
alongside spring water
near the trail on which I’m walking, as if
they rest after earlier spring’s call,
annual migration to mate
toward the laying down of eggs
in tobacco brush, snow brush, hidden.
It won’t be long before they’ll hibernate,
leave for lower elevation.
They have their patterns.
Open and close,
open and close.
Their wings convey a sign
before lifting off again
toward rivers of fluttering skies.
This post was previously published on emagazine.com.
If you believe in the work we are doing here at The Good Men Project and want a deeper connection with our community, please join us as a Premium Member today.
Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS. Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
Photo credit: iStockPhoto.com