Love the POV choice. Sweet writing. Beautiful photos.
I am a witness to the biologist, the one with, "the softest, most porous of hearts" observing "time as deterioration." I can see her study and wait, all while she is mesmerized and reflective.
Thank you, Jessica. I wasn't sure how ready people are for stories of quarantine. But the missing butterflies this summer made this one rise to the surface.
Two hundred miles to the north of you, and our birds are less this year, the butterflies are less, even the insects are less- the summers grow more fierce and unrelenting, life flees northward, but the trees cannot. The tapestry thins and frays- things perish but are not always renewed. Things flee but do not always find haven The cord in my line of prayers flags sundered in the wind and the prayers fell to the rose bush below and now lie tangled in its thorns.
Love this piece, Mary Beth, and the POV choice. Wonderful companion to your longer manuscript.
I was moved in many places, e.g. here: "I understand a little about having to disappear for a while to survive." My parents come around as Tiger Swallowtails to check on me now and then, so I have a special fondness. 💚
Love the POV choice. Sweet writing. Beautiful photos.
I am a witness to the biologist, the one with, "the softest, most porous of hearts" observing "time as deterioration." I can see her study and wait, all while she is mesmerized and reflective.
Thank you for this, thank you for witnessing.
It is so important that we slow to notice and you were able to put us in place with the narrator so we can see what she sees.
Beautiful piece. "The way she spiraled inward when outward life came to a halt. The way the silence cleared the air for butterflies."
Thank you, Jessica. I wasn't sure how ready people are for stories of quarantine. But the missing butterflies this summer made this one rise to the surface.
Two hundred miles to the north of you, and our birds are less this year, the butterflies are less, even the insects are less- the summers grow more fierce and unrelenting, life flees northward, but the trees cannot. The tapestry thins and frays- things perish but are not always renewed. Things flee but do not always find haven The cord in my line of prayers flags sundered in the wind and the prayers fell to the rose bush below and now lie tangled in its thorns.
Love this piece, Mary Beth, and the POV choice. Wonderful companion to your longer manuscript.
I was moved in many places, e.g. here: "I understand a little about having to disappear for a while to survive." My parents come around as Tiger Swallowtails to check on me now and then, so I have a special fondness. 💚
Oh Julie, I'm so glad you shared that about your parents. I'll think of them when I see the swallowtails again. Thank you for the restack as well!