Now Like Startled Flowers

The hailstones pounded the window as violently,as if they had minds bent on killing;soldiers in rows and ranks rushing onwards; as each fell another and another took its place. Cold and mathematical they had a simple precise force and geometry. Into this warlike scene,floated two white butterflies Crossing and recrossing the spaces between the hail they followed a random path;now together.now apart Their unplanned,loving dance leads to mating, procreation and a future while the hailstones can only die. Seems sometimes fragile freedom is more productive than the fierce mechanical modern world can imagine. I see the butterflies now like startled flowers hunting for the sun