Two butterflies, spinning in the air, a swirling fragile maelstrom, a whirlwind, disappearing into the blue.
One of them folds its wings and falls. A stone dead plummet towards the ground, a dogfight wooden aircraft burning.
Just as it is about to hit the earth, with a nonchalant flick of its wings, it is again afloat on the air.
Transforming itself from a burning meteor, to a playful lazy summer stream as it flits, tacks and winds between stalks of wheat and buttercups.
I am struck by the thought that nothing I could ever do could match the thrill of what I have just witnessed.
One of them folds its wings and falls. A stone dead plummet towards the ground, a dogfight wooden aircraft burning.
Just as it is about to hit the earth, with a nonchalant flick of its wings, it is again afloat on the air.
Transforming itself from a burning meteor, to a playful lazy summer stream as it flits, tacks and winds between stalks of wheat and buttercups.
I am struck by the thought that nothing I could ever do could match the thrill of what I have just witnessed.
