Butterflies and bastards…

An eventful week; it started well enough with sightings of a peacock butterfly basking in the sunshine on the paving at the front of my house and a brief and spirit-lifting glimpse of bright yellow as a brimstone butterfly fluttered along like a sunny-day smile on our suburban street.

I can’t remember the last time I saw a brimstone, not for a few years at least. Since then though the sun has gone back into the cloud and I didn’t despite trying so hard.

Then today that puddled man-boy poking me in my forehead repeatedly, long and hard, mad eyes flashing fire, threats of beatings. I didn’t run and I didn’t stand down I’m proud to say, but I’m not proud of letting it go in my usual way. Sunshine on the paving at the front of my house and a brief and spirit-lifting glimpse of bright yellow as a brimstone butterfly fluttered along like a sunny-day smile on our suburban street. I can’t remember the last time I saw a brimstone, but I didn’t run and I didn’t stand down.

‘What’s my problem?’ Well, in answer to that oafish question oaf, I can’t tolerate the type of injustice that sickly boy of yours dishes out – stamping on every butterfly he sees, congratulating himself for making the world black with his loathing, and you condoning it… chip and block comes to mind – you nightmares.

Back in the long ago when the air was full of butterflies all summer I wouldn’t have let it go I think. Lots of butterflies then – blues, browns, reds, oranges – these days it’s unusual to see even a cabbage white. But at least I can see the butterflies, appreciate their beauty and charm, know how to let their wings lift me and take me back to other, better days - at least I can put all this into words.

He’s just a thug, a bullying stupid thug and perhaps I would have let it go even back then.

Well maybe. You nightmares.

So, two butterflies on a warm march day. It has to be a good omen.