Now that our butterfly bush is in full bloom, a cavalcade of butterflies has been visiting our backyard, fluttering about from the cup plant to the butterfly weed to the Joe Pye Weed. The seven sons flower tree is on the verge of busting out in its now brilliant bloom – the latest flowers to appear in the summer season, almost after-thoughts since we’ve mentally put the garden to sleep weeks ago. At least I have.
It was an earlier wrap-up, as much a sign of emotional defeat as it was exhaustion from trying to find a regular stretch of sunny weather that wasn’t interrupted by storms of some sort. It has not been a stable or safe summer, not in the least.
Yet still the butterflies have arrived, and the hummingbirds and finches have been keeping us company as well, and on the morning this is being written, the sun is out and summer whispers that she is still here, that she never left, and that she will return again next year.
A beautiful black butterfly, dusted with a bit of blue and dotted with a few brilliant spots of white, alights on a butterfly bush bloom. It poses for only a moment, then flits away in search of more nectar in other backyards. I watch it depart like a little friendly shadow.
