January 15, 2014 § 17 Comments


          It stirred between the folds of the curtains the day I left the central heating on. The Red Admiral flew circles around the orb of my Japanese lantern – but it was not the sun. It settled on the painting of red and blue and green – but it was not a nectar garden. It flew again and again at the window – but it was not seeing the light of spring.

          It would have stayed forever on that cold pane. I couldn’t wait. The butterfly flew towards the full moon rising over the oaks – already rimed with frost.


§ 17 Responses to Instinct

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