Seeing a butterfly in Benecke Wood 

Walking towards Hardy's Monument early last year, we made our way through Benecke Wood - the plantation was composed largely of conifers - we walked along a track between silent pines, gorse and still bare deciduous trees - slender branches were like wands - the bright sun cast shadows of naked trees upon the gravel underfoot -

Penny kept an eye out for birds - she pointed out a buzzard, soaring over the firs - it was like a small drone, wings hardly moving -

Suddenly, I saw a butterfly, wings outstretched, settled upon a gorse flower - it was a Red Admiral - I crept up to it, hardly daring to breathe - it looked so beautiful and fragile - I felt as though I'd been given a marvellous gift - I looked at the patterns upon the wings, the whorls of colour -

I thought of how this creature was believed to symbolize the soul - how outlines of butterflies had been found scratched upon the walls of prisons - etched in terrible times - I thought of the heart breaking words woven into the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs - 

The yellow gorse flowers shone like tiny flames - the butterfly let me gaze upon it - then it zig zagged away -

I wondered if I might have a dream, in which I stood in a street, under a white moon - I would look up - clouds of butterflies would swirl past me - they would have white wings, though a few would be dark red -