Happy Invasion

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. . . at least, it makes me happy.

I walked out in the front yard to distribute more ladybugs on my aphid-infested roses. As I walked by my daisies, I was surrounded by a flock, a swarm, a gaggle–what do you call those things?–of painted lady butterflies. The superbloom has brought a lot of them up from Mexico in migration, but we thought we had seen the biggest wave, but, not! They are everywhere, and given they like the lavender, daisies, roses, and (dead) lilacs in my yard, we have a downright sanctuary for them! It is like walking in a fairyland.

How fun!

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I Wonder

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In every stained glass butterfly wing and every crafted hummingbird tongue,

in chiffon layers of petal upon petal, anther and stamen, centered strength,

I see your hand,

your mind,

your art, and I wonder

at those who could praise science and the randomness of process for these marvels.

There is a hunger for wonder, and here it is.


All around.

But to praise the source of it all as an impersonal, cruel nothing

rather than an intelligent, creative something—


is to miss the love for the function and to miss intervention for happenstance .

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