Faeries are abroad.
While the sun shines they dance, a skittish double-helix dance. And blossom bursts forth, like foam upon a crashing sea.
There, that’s the limit of my poesy today!
I’ve surprised a butterfly at rest. Captured its image – but not its essence. That I leave to greater powers than mine.
What kind of butterfly you wonder?
A thing of rare enchantment. Or so my book would have it.
I’ll let you judge for yourselves.
The pirouetting pair performing in my garden are called Speckled Woods. They:
“feed mainly out of sight, drinking honeydew on treetops…
They are usually seen in ones or twos, especially the male which occupies a beam of light in which he perches, basks and indulges in dancing fluttery flights. He leaves only to ward off other males or to chase females, then returns to his original sunbeam…’
Jeremy Thomas, Guide to Butterflies of Britain & Ireland
Happy Sunbeam – or Sunday – everyone. Your choice – perhaps dependent on the weather.
That’s it for today. My inner angst can steam a little longer when there are butterflies outside fluttering. And blossom, a-blooming.