Day 129-131: Butterflies

Pretty picture hanging on the wall of my thoughts;

Nose pressed to the glass, breathing streams of fog

Onto the pitchers of lemonade, not a lemon in sight.

Tumbling into the speeding frame, tucking in my arms just in time.

How curious this place;

My familiar sweater hanging in a shop window.

Waiting for me to try it on at last;

Haven't we met before, old friend?

And those awful butterflies, those raging flutterbyes

The ones flapping their wings in a battlefield within,

They've mysteriously been tucked into bed,

Vanquished to a quiet place by sparkling armor clad calm.

Out of the din into the open hush,

Following the voices of friends on the wind,

Words of comfort drifting and reflecting

On the water, tumbling like pebbles bottled in my mind.

Crisp fall breeze shooting between tall maples;

Soft dirt below foot, quieting my steps;

Path winding ahead, as far as I can see.

My hands searching for a map, eyes searching for signs.

Picking courage, like webs off the shrubs,

Clutching it tight in my pockets

Lest I be left alone, as I embark

On the first day of a dream realized.