Days past I chased butterflies, enticed
by vibrant colour, mesmerized
by random motion, lured
by metamorphic possibilities of flight.
What is a butterfly but winged contradiction,
patterned unpredictability aloft?
I rest / come to ground / gather stones.
Stones too entice, with
muted colour, with
stillness, metamorphic
possibility.
Paradoxical: a stone
may be volcanic while inert, a mountain
or a grain of sand.
Scoop / fling / stones too can fly.
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Leslie Prpich chases butterflies around an unruly garden on the rocky banks of the Skeena river in northern British Columbia. She writes creative nonfiction, occasional poems, and combistories, some of which can be found at www.commatology.com.
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The Litter I See Project 