Category: 2024

If I could build them a shelter, I would, so they can stay alive in the winter. It doesn’t work like that, though. As they say, such is life. Such is their lifecycle.

I’d like to believe my sweet butterflies live out a gentle life after they are done here, after sucking nectar from my flowers, enough to fly off to a wonderful exotic southern location, where they can winter over, and live on, however butterflies can live on.  Not so. They live a few weeks, or however long it takes to fulfill their lifecycles, and then flutter off into nothing, wherever their spirits take them. I don’t want to think they’re gone, not just gone from my flowers, but gone, dead and gone, for good.

Does it help that, once, once I loved my sweet butterflies? I think so. I think it matters that once I so loved my sweet butterflies. That they said, don’t look down, dear…hold on…and I saw and heard, and I held on, and I so loved my butterflies.

They should have a place, my butterflies, they should have a place to flutter among exotic flowers in a place where the Southern Cross takes its place in the night sky. It would have to be a sunny spot in the day. My butterflies like the sun.