past torment endured
at the hands of those
who would harm.
Air is lightened,
cleansed by unholy absence
Slaughter shifts perspective
Despair presses Diamond
lover in waiting
The two, Butterfly
and Weed lay eggs
One will be dead in weeks
Blazing blooms live on
Seeds of the Future
held firm by roots
an abundance of nourishment
Gifted from below.
Every summer I wait for the Great Spangled Fritillary.. first the painted ladies come, admirals follow and then the swallowtails. This year viceroys made an appearance and of course, as the insect icon everyone has eyes on, monarchs will be arriving shortly, although in how many numbers we don’t know. Saving one species without saving the forests and meadows won’t work, but most don’t recognize this truth. We seem stuck in the think globally act locally meme, so outdated now. Acting globally means saving the forests streams and meadows that we destroy every single day so any species can survive…
Meanwhile I’ll take the fritillaries that roam through the forest as I do. In our own ways we both seek out sweet nectar from wildflower meadows, water from streams, protection from trees….
Finally arriving here when milkweed and butterfly weed bloom I am enthralled and can spend hours watching these butterflies drinking their fill and wondering what they may be saying to one another as they gather is community sharing precious food…. A Meditation on Life.
I am also struck by butterflies arriving as a favorite summer insect, particularly those monarchs who now adorn wall paintings as they once were scratched on the walls of prisons no child would survive.
A holocaust is occurring as I write – Too many species are disappearing before we even know they exist. Beneficial insects have vanished throughout the world at an alarming rate; one third of the root of our food chain is gone… (conservative estimate)
Insects animals nature and women….our right to exist is at risk – women have no control over who uses her body. This right has been taken away by men. Annihilation the goal?
When I commune with the fritillaries I sense the fragility of all life, feel my own losses keenly, mourn the women who betray, and pray for those I love to get what they need.
Death of one kind or the other seems to be on the horizon everywhere.