The Butterfly and the Hail Storm

 

In the morning, while the sun knew

and I was time, she drifted to me.  Blue,

floating blue cascade shimmer, she came

to me with whispers of summer still.

Quieted by her dance, I stayed as she

settled upon me, smiled with her indigo

wings, round eyes and watched me

wonder her blue deep through me.

 

And then later, on the mountain, darkness

dropped, as it does with time, sky turning,

mirroring granite below. Rain pelted, soaked,

willed itself to hail. Morning forgotten,

I drew myself closed within the gray, startled

by bolts of lightning on nearby pines.  Hunched

down, arms around knees, head bowed, hurting.

I felt the wings on my back lose their flight.

 

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