It fluttered in on an unsteady path,
maybe unpredictable is a more apt
description. It looked as if it were
fighting against a mighty wind and
was being buffeted too and fro as it
went side to side and up and down.
All the while moving forward,
toward what, I had no idea.
The yellow winged butterfly finally
settled down on a patch of moisture
left on my driveway. I had sprayed
it clean earlier and it was nearly dry,
just barely moist enough to darken
the surface.
Whether boldly, or exhaustedly,
that little delicate butterfly rested
there. It rested and, I presume,
sipped moisture from the surface,
refreshing itself.
There it sat, sipping and sunning,
and quite content to be ogled so.
But, not for long, for it had places
that it needed to go. Minutes
after alighting on my driveway,
the little aeronaut was, again,
flying its zig-zaggy pattern through
the afternoon air.
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