I’m just going to get the mail
The dead leaves crack under my feet
And there’s a rush of hot air when I open the door
before I’m overcome with the scent of honeysuckle
I think the home next door must’ve planted some
I pop a letter in the mail slot when I feel it
A flutter, barely a wisp
Tiny wings next to my ear
I turn to look up and I’m surrounded by butterflies
it’s then I see the flowering vines climbing the wall next to me
That’s what they want
But they’re flying and floating all around me
I remain still as bursts of orange flutter by my face and around my ears
I’m overtaken by the beauty of it
So random and unexpected
Then they’re leaving
As suddenly as they came
And all I’m left with is heat
And the scent of honeysuckle on my skin.


Categories: Gardening, Planting, Poetry, Writing


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