Carol:
Butterfly Days
I have never been good at anything that required attention to minute details or memorizing names. That’s why I have resisted taking a birding class, content to let Marc point out the various birds by name and sound. Most of the plants in my yard I can identify because I am either allergic to them (juniper for instance) or because I picked them out myself. Right in front of our house is a butterfly bush, badly in need of pruning before the arrival of spring. Megan says I neglect my plants now that I am retired, both inside and out.
My niece actually helped me choose the butterfly bush the summer she got married. To make extra money for the wedding, she landscaped my front yard with sometimes the help of her fiance and sometimes the help of my son. The butterfly bush was a perfect choice because: (1) once established it needs little watering; (2) it is not fussy, i.e. it takes neglect well; and (3) it provides color, not just with its yellow flowers but by attracting butterflies. Some 7 or so years later, it has lived up to its reputation and I really enjoy sitting in a chair on my porch in the early morning watching the butterflies flit from branch to branch.
Today, I must not be so “riddled with parasites” (see T98) because I have combed my hair and managed to write two paragraphs. However, my only fancy this morning is a desire to go back to sleep and perhaps dream about butterflies. So, here are two of my favorite poems by two of my favorite poets about butterflies.
 |
| Eastern Tiger Swallow-Tail |
1521 (Emily Dickinson)
The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn't know its Name
And hasn't any tax to pay
And hasn't any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that's the way to grieve –
The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn't know its Name
And hasn't any tax to pay
And hasn't any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that's the way to grieve –
 |
| Eastern Tailed Blue Butterfly |
Blue-Butterfly Day (Robert Frost)
It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.
It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.
Megan:
Dragonfly Fancies
My mother started giving me dragonflies about ten years ago because she thought I should have a “collection.”
In my childhood I had tried collecting things, but as I was dependent on my parents for the money (nothing’s actually changed there), their endorsement of the collections was directly related to it’s size.
First, I remember the My Little Ponys. I think I was drawn to them because their human companion shared my first name. I wanted to enter my collection (of about 8 ponies, plus the Megan doll) into the county fair, but then I discovered that someone else had beaten me to it – and that they had dozens and dozens of pristine, still in-the-box ponies. I looked at my own grubby figurines, stained from so much play, and thought maybe I could start again. My parents suggested I find something else.
So, then it was porcelain dolls. Over a few of years' worth of birthdays and Christmases, I racked up a collection of six. The final doll was a baby, dressed for its christening in an immaculate white dress and bonnet. She probably cost 5 or 10 times what my other dolls cost and I was confused at the sudden increase in the quality of my gifts. My mother informed me that this doll was to be the crown jewel of the collection, the final piece to make it complete. I was sorry to hear this, and felt this conclusion was premature. Unlike the ponies, I had taken care of these dolls – they all stood on their little stands, and I knew not to play with them. Unfortunately, our new puppy did not know that and of course it was the nicest doll whose baptismal dress was stained with puppy drool, whose left leg was first shattered and then amputated.
Anyway, that was it for my collections until I left for college and then, inexplicably, I started receiving dragonfly paraphernalia from family and friends. “Don’t I get to choose what I collect?” I asked my mother. “You never ask for anything specific,” she said. “I had to tell them something, and dragonflies are nice.”
First, I remember the My Little Ponys. I think I was drawn to them because their human companion shared my first name. I wanted to enter my collection (of about 8 ponies, plus the Megan doll) into the county fair, but then I discovered that someone else had beaten me to it – and that they had dozens and dozens of pristine, still in-the-box ponies. I looked at my own grubby figurines, stained from so much play, and thought maybe I could start again. My parents suggested I find something else.
So, then it was porcelain dolls. Over a few of years' worth of birthdays and Christmases, I racked up a collection of six. The final doll was a baby, dressed for its christening in an immaculate white dress and bonnet. She probably cost 5 or 10 times what my other dolls cost and I was confused at the sudden increase in the quality of my gifts. My mother informed me that this doll was to be the crown jewel of the collection, the final piece to make it complete. I was sorry to hear this, and felt this conclusion was premature. Unlike the ponies, I had taken care of these dolls – they all stood on their little stands, and I knew not to play with them. Unfortunately, our new puppy did not know that and of course it was the nicest doll whose baptismal dress was stained with puppy drool, whose left leg was first shattered and then amputated.
Anyway, that was it for my collections until I left for college and then, inexplicably, I started receiving dragonfly paraphernalia from family and friends. “Don’t I get to choose what I collect?” I asked my mother. “You never ask for anything specific,” she said. “I had to tell them something, and dragonflies are nice.”
(They aren’t nice, actually. One time, at a lake, a really big dragonfly dive bombed my face and chased me around for awhile. )
I gave into it though, without any more resistance. There must be something in the human wiring that leads us to collecting. I have friends who collect penguins, elephants, and lizards. My mother collects Santones (which are also just dolls that can’t be played with. She has a lot more than 6, but she justifies it because they are French and therefore classier than my poor one-legged baby doll). As my dragonfly collection has grown, so has my affection for it. I now actively seek out additions myself. But a strange side effect is now I also feel a jealous sense of entitlement whenever I see someone else with a dragonfly something. My aunt has a pair of dragonfly sandals. My cousin (who I believe has collected dragonflies far longer than I) has a pair of dragonfly earrings. When I noticed both the shoes and the earrings, my first thought in both cases was ‘Oh, are those for me?’ Even as they were being worn by someone else. Without really meaning for it to happen, I now consider dragonflies to be my thing. 
No comments:
Post a Comment