Butterfly Wings

From the cradle of birth through the complex of life, to finally the dungeon of death, generational instincts react when there’s strife, so a new order, takes its first breath. In a pristine held valley with forest and stream, where beauty and colour stand out, odd shapes have a reason designed for the scheme; there’s not a straight line thereabout. So often we stroll through this balance of time, blinkered and blind to its role. What comes to the eye is not reason nor rhyme, but wasteland that needs our control. But bellbirds who call from the tree tops up high, or boronia scent on the breeze, and the cascading current that flows with a sigh, are meant to put our mind at ease, and surely they will if we’re given the chance, to seek out these intricate things, so there is more than a mere fleeting glance, when we travel on butterfly wings. When blossom takes over the rim of a shrub, and the lure of nectar is strong, pollen is moved through the whole of the scrub, when the working bee moves it along. The canopy gorges on sunlight and rain, and filter them both to the soil, so embryo seeds, start to swell and strain, and seed leaves begin to uncoil; not that you’d notice when you’re walking by, you don’t see these intricate things, unless of course you are willing to fly, and travel on butterfly wings. Go back to nature; to our dear mother’s arms, who won’t support queens and kings, but she will take you on a journey that calms, if you dream you’re on butterfly wings.