What floats along on wings of the night?
|I am a butterfly. Only when the moon glows round and full and dresses the countryside in a gown of ivory and pearl do I spread my wings of spun silver and float from my cave. I am a butterfly and when the sun climbs into the sky, blazing over field and town, I am sequestered in a cave of shadows. That is my secret.
I am witness to the nocturnal world, to leaves caressed into the cadence of poetry by the soft breeze, to incandescent clouds brushing the moon, to the rustle of night creatures in fields of tall, wild grass. I am of this world, my image folds into its tapestry. I am a butterfly, small and light as a breath, but I know my place in the world’s sublime portrait. That is my secret.
I pass quickly through the harshness thrust into the nightscape by the hand of man, past tall lamps posted like prison guards along streets strewn with the detritus of human excess. I refuse to alight on pavement stained by human excretion, on structures erupting upward, slashing the fabric of the natural and divine. I am a butterfly, but I know the destruction wreaked by heedless impulse, I understand it. That is my secret.
I am a butterfly, but I move through the night sky with purpose. That is my secret.
The surface is padded, meant to suggest comfort, but I know better. I feel the cold leaking upward through the dark green cotton gown, soaking into my back. Harsh lights blaze into my eyes. I feel the needle thrust into my arm, but I pay no heed as I sink into darkness. They think they are rid of me. But I am a butterfly, and I will return. That is my secret.
(Word count: 300)