My son and I took a short hike in Stanley Park a few days back. The weather was warm and the air a tad smoky. An escape in the forest was much welcomed. Our tramp into the woods coincided with the annual moth hatch. There were thousands of them fluttering in the understory.

Now if there were that many in my living room; I would be soundly disgusted, but under the trees and bumbling through the slightly gauzy air, the effect was magical, their wings soft against my cheek and bare arms.

The savage hunter who accompanied my however saw it as game on. Poor moths. Spend most of your existence as an egg, a short time as lowly caterpillar, often mistaken for a worm, until you get shut in the dark for a month. Finally nature grants you flight, and a few short days of freedom, only to have it all cut short by a twelve-year old that just can't turn off his ancient predatory instinct.

All I can say is that Nature say it coming and I imagine that is why she made so many of them.

Butterfly Docent

land softly
but stay lithe
from rough hands
keep your distance

worry little over bees
they rarely sting
more content to fumble through the air
storing away memories of flowers gone
crystalline sweet stuff stacked neatly in the hive
given respect and space
the buzzing set remain friends, not foes

allow metamorphoses
of thought and form
lead those who have not found flight
teach the strength of softness
the transformational power of the dark
the necessity of balance
the dishonesty of fear

gather sweet things
from solar lit temperate climes
but don’t overstay the warmth
when the summer sun slips
below the autumnal meridian
seek the centre of your being
rest and prepare for rebirth

remain gentle and supple
keep your eyes focused on beauty

the butterfly is the greatest of teachers
the most elusive and vulnerable of sages
care for them as you would
your own heart