The Genesis of Butterflies

Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies.

The Genesis of Butterflies
by Victor Hugo

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April 27th, 2011. I am not a nature photographer, but I tried really hard to get the skyline even in this. The wind was buffeting me, it was quite strong and I had no tripod. A lady walking her dogs was harassing me, asking me if I was lost. I guess not a lot of people went out to take pictures of the water that was in the ditches, covering the roads, filling up farmers fields until they were lakes and forced cows to higher land to get out of the mud.

I was melancholy, the sky reflected my thoughts, hued with yellow, blue, gray and green, picking up on the highlights from the sun splaying out across the waters of the flooded farmland. I didn't have long until the sun set, destroying my chance at capturing the moment...thankfully, for a split second it was like you reached down and cupped the wind in your hand, quieted the dog walking woman, and smiled in to the pale rays of sun to make them explode the sky. I couldn't shoot directly in to the glare, so I turned towards the north and saw that you had touched there too.

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_{Sappy Kay is sappy. I miss you.}