I looked for the butterfly, as I would for a fragment of memory ...

The butterfly flew before me in fragile zig zags, sheltered from the wind by the drystone wall - it settled upon a ledge of lichened stone - 

The pale sunlight fell upon its outstretched wings - 

I could see its two antennae, casting quivering lines of shadow upon the stone  - 

The leafless trees of Polar Wood behind the wall were sculpted by winter gales -

We'd lingered there amongst galaxies of bluebells last May - I'd been dizzy with blueness - 

Now I walked on, past sheep grazing the wet grass, to stand on Swyre Head, overlooking the sea - 

White waves broke upon the Kimmeridge Levels -  

Salt rimed hedgerows divided lonely fields - 

The shadows of clouds moved over the water -

The January sun was low in the sky - 

When I turned back, walking past the drystone wall, I looked for the butterfly, as I would for a fragment of memory, the recollection of a golden hour - 

12.00

Thursday 29 January 2016

Swyre Head

Dorset