The blooms dotted the green bushes in colors
only summer could dream, blends of yellow,
orange, pink, and red. They lulled me
with their sweetness, and I hovered there
in the stillness, as butterflies descended
on to the splendid blooms. They drifted all
around me, each one painted with her own
enchanting pattern, her own combination of colors.
They were summers snowflakes, each perfectly
different, as they drifted in the sweet breeze
of summer and floated among blooms. Sun
pushed down with summers heaviness, and
I waited to see two butterflies that matched,
in color and pattern. Those flowers flooded
in June colors boasted more fluttering beauty
than I could have imagined before that day, and yet
it stays with me that there were no pairs, no
connections. They all flew alone.
Talking to the Clouds 