Fly Me a River
Painted Ladies
Fly me a river
of butterfly dreams
that flutter and flap
on a gust of the breeze…
Like snow falling,
they flicker and tumble,
meandering through the
tips of the trees,
answering the rumble
of a whispered tale
cloaked in mystery
about a trail
we cannot see.
Surging over the hedge,
they dive down the hill,
following a leader
who still
carries the torch
of the migrations
of antiquity.
How do they know
where to go?
Their journey is long,
yet they follow
the current,
which carries them on,
listening to the song
in their blood.
They surge from the deserts
across heated sands,
like silk traders
destined for a new land.
A primal sense must pulse
with those wings,
as they dip and dive
through the
soft spring winds.
Half asleep,
they waltz through the air,
Painted Ladies,
dancing without a care.
Based on the great migration of spring 2019, when record numbers of Painted Lady butterflies surged through Southern California, like a river of flapping wings, on their annual journey.
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Poem and photo ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.
