Occasionally, as a matter of probabilities, one must expect to find himself in a snow-fogged graveyard.
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More Butterflies and a Crawly
Atlantis fritillary
Another Vanessa atalanta
And in the interest of it being the season of crawlies:
I actually have a way bigger and hairier crawly than this, but in the interest of not scaring away my loyal readership I will save it for a bleaker and more evil hallowe’en. Though perhaps by then the change in climate will have given me an excuse to begin celebrating dia de los muertos in its stead. And for that one really would rather have photos of skulls.
Beyond Fields We Know 2
I ran into a sprite today in the meadows of Sunderland. She was lying on her belly under a tree, bouncing her heels in the air and looking off at the mountain, in the middle of a field of lady’s thumb and grass gone to seed. My path took me between her and the object of her vantage. I was eating an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles on the verge of melting, and wouldn’t have seen her at all if she hadn’t waved.
I couldn’t be sure if the wave was meant for me or the mountain, but I took a chance and returned it. It was breezy, and her wispy auburn hair danced up around her face like a little tornado.
“It’s a nice day,” she said.
“Lovely,” I said, and went on.
I’m not the sort to meddle in the affairs of the Otherworld.