Butterfly House

The street outside is cold and grey

While the air inside is humid, heavy,

Full of water drops and a sweet scent:

Trays of orange slices line the path,

Which are nibbled silently.

I try to listen carefully:

Is that the gentle flutter of wings in the air?

Behind leaves and on branches,

Or high up in the air,

We observe the fleeting lives

Of colour, warmth and beauty:

The elusive winter butterfly.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s