I live in paradise. Across the road is a vacant lot with reeds and grasses and wildflowers, where hundreds of black velvet butterflies play in the sun.
Across the other road is a nature reserve without a fence. Town, then tar, then wild beauty. The town is surrounded by untouched mountains, towering green speckled with hard gray. Where else can you find black butterflies with silver tipped wings? This place is like something between sun and moon, between happy and sad, between old and young. I hear the wind call, I hear the wind calling my name. “Dance with me, come dance with me.”
In the summer the sky is like fire, in the autumn like a hazing blaze. The winter brings ice sheets that never quite make it to earth, but they hang in the sky like other-worldly glaciers. And often the angels shoot down at us with water guns, and the wind calls, “Come dance with me.”