It was only a week ago
that I showed you pretty pictures
of snow-covered branches,
the result of an overnight storm.
So how can it be today
that a butterfly flew past me
and landed in this pile
of last fall’s dried up leaves?
She’s a Mourning Cloak butterfly;
rather than migrate south,
she simply hides
until spring comes knocking.
Had she not fluttered past my face,
I never would have noticed her
resting in the leaves, lost in a sea of brown.
Thanks, little one, for waving hello
with those beautiful wings.
