Chasing butterflies

Broken down shed at dusk, looking west. The birds light up the trees and the sky goes pink.

I could take a picture now with my phone but it would just be a postcard, and say nothing of my time here.

Instead, the season takes hold through sounds and scents. It’s nothing you can capture in a frame or a net. The moment will wriggle free every time.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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