A Butterfly in Midsummer Shade
Sitting on the mossy rock, the morning is quiet. The sweat-soaked shirt cools against my back. A butterfly settled within reach of my hand and folded its wings. It shows no sign of moving yet. The butterfly needs its rest, and so do I. I can see neither the way I came up nor the way down. The forest is simply quiet. It has been a long time since I had an hour like this. The moss's wet dampens my fingers. The warmth of the rock's surface stays in my palm.
This morning the cat outside my window lay belly-down on the road. Not moving, just lying there a long while. Not even turning its head, and I couldn't simply pass it by.