Imago resting on the wicker–
I thought him a leaf until he
flickered and showed his true self.
Borning or dying? Two weeks he lives;
Red cherry-stained wings forgive
His dark Instar larval past
when he thieved oak and wild cherry leaves.
Io carries proof of redemption–
the universe on his wings.
This morning a group of tourists stopped by the cottage.
They were a noisy bunch,
Fluttering and chirping around the pokeberries
at the shrubby edge between
mowed and wild.
Binoculars missing from their usual spot,
I had to run around the cottage,
Fluttering and chirping,
To locate them
Hiding on a windowsill.
I didn’t take this photo: it’s from the Great Backyard Bird Count gallery. Click on the photo to see some great bird shots.
When I returned to the back porch,
there must have been twenty or more,
nervously flitting from berry to berry.
on their way to somewhere
stopping at our pokeberry bushes
The click of the camera
and they flew off,
in an unknown beguiling language.
I took my seat reverently
in the wet grass of the leafy cathedral
and waited for their reappearance;
but their stomachs were filled with purple berries
and they were off in search of the next rest stop.
A golden aura of wonder and delight remained
In the silence of the morning
my prayer ascended in the bright sky:
for glimpses of the unordinary
in the ordinary.
And then the shy local fellow came into the shadows
to enjoy apples and stolen corn for