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s destined for a new land.</p><p id="68b4">A primal sense must pulse with those wings, as they dip and dive through the soft spring winds.</p><p id="e159">Half asleep, they waltz through the air, Painted Ladies, dancing without a care.</p><p id="3d80">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.</p><p id="0312">If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy:</p><div id="791c" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-ephemeral-life-of-a-rose-719a0872e5ce"> <div> <div> <h2>The Ephemeral Life of a Rose</h2> <div><h3>The fleeting moments of beauty, the descent into decay, and the absorption back into the great workings of nature twine…</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div>

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            <h2>The Small Moments</h2>
            <div><h3>The fog drifts, a morning mist dripping like angels’ lace across the hills. The parrots fly across the heavy sky — in…</h3></div>
            <div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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    </div><p id="ae08">Poem and photo ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.</p></article></body>

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.

If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy:

The Ephemeral Life of a Rose

The fleeting moments of beauty, the descent into decay, and the absorption back into the great workings of nature twine…

medium.com

The Small Moments

The fog drifts, a morning mist dripping like angels’ lace across the hills. The parrots fly across the heavy sky — in…

medium.com