Several years ago, on a warm
summer day a magnificent painted lady butterfly landed on my arm. It was one of
the most amazing moments of interaction with nature that I have ever
experienced. We, the butterfly and me, stood silently interacting for long moments
and then the painted lady moved on. This morning, sitting in my garden enjoying
the soft fog-littered breeze, a Monarch landed on my arm and seemed to be
observing me. It then moved to a flower, its more normal site. The photo is
terribly out of focus, but so glad to have it. The poem is from the previous
encounter.
When a painted lady touched my arm
Vanessa Cardui. Hina,
messenger of truth.
Wings in symmetrical
mandala:
symbol and man in a gyred
dance.
You migrate from a
somewhere:
on a code,
a portent, a command?
Unsure passing:
as real as death, certain
as life—
signaling the intricate
contingencies of love.
Oh, butterfly. Be not the
trickster.
Be the painted lady who touched my arm.
Be the painted lady who touched my arm.
Any time I SEE a butterfly let alone have it interact with me is very fine indeed! Your poem makes me think - intricate meetings of the best kind. I had a Monarch land on my hand once - a silent communication which I still remember. Before my mother's coffin was lowered, a large Monarch landed on the top and slowly fanned its wings. It was still there when I walked away. Hope you're doing well and enjoying your summer, Duff - as I am.
ReplyDeleteSo glad we share that interaction with a butterfly. What an amazing moment at your mother's graveside. Simply beautiful! Summer is here some days, gone on others...typical San Francisco. Fortunately, I enjoy that. So, glad to hear from you. Went to your blog yesterday, knowing that you are taking a break, but just wanted to have that little connection.
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