Windblown Butterflies

Sunday was a day chock full of butterflies, but many were tattered in appearance and seemed weary. This is (no doubt) due to recent heavy rains and the high winds which have been a constant feature of our northern summer this year. The Lanark Highlands have been in constant motion for several weeks now, and photographing anything from a leaf to a butterfly is problematic.

This summer, I feel as though I am living my life on a great inland sea amid flowing waves of barley, clover and corn, and by autumn, I may well have developed the steady rolling gait of a fierce old seawoman who has spent her entire life living out on the ocean and far from land, although that is certainly not so. Grace O'Malley (or Gráinne Mhaol), the legendary Irish seafarer of the sixteenth century (not to mention pirate, warrior, chieftain and adventuress) comes to mind here, although I possess hardly a scrap of her energy and courage and nothing whatsoever of her skill with sword and lance. In her own time, the fearless Grace was known as the "Mother of All Rebellions", and it would be splendid to merit such a title.

Both the White Admiral and the Question Mark shown here were somewhat the worse for wear, and they were happy to rest for a while among the sheltered junipers and the milkweed on the edge of the eastern hill and out of the wind. Monarch butterflies were numerous, but they refused to pose and didn't alight anywhere long enough for me to take a single photograph - there was no noblesse oblige on their part yesterday. It didn't matter at all, and I was perfectly content with the two butterflies who visited and "hung out" with me for some time. Both were beautiful just as they were, tattered or no, and we three sat quietly on the hill together, just breathing in and out - they were fine companions for such a day. Besides, I am a wee bit tattered myself.