and then there is the butterfly
whose wings – if you can hear them –
laugh the most when they’re yellow,
a tiny light who giggles in the shadows,
against the stolid wood of ageless trees,
through the falling sorrows of an evening sun,
against the odds of such funny fluttering.
Butterfly
Soul in the machine 
Thanks for the follow 🙂
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nostalgia…my (now passed) Okinawa (Japan)-born wife loved the dragonfly equally with butterflies. She could “catch ’em” between her thumb and index finger as they fluttered, then gently allow them to resume their meandering, elegant flight patterns.
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