A Late-Summer Poem

Been toooooooo long since I’ve blogged for my own selfish pleasure, if not for my long-suffering readers’ (all 5 of you!) interests.

I offer this post up by way of compensation.  The Monarch butterflies appear to be back.  As with the salmon returning to spawn off the BC coast, I’m not 100% certain this is a good sign — it may simply indicate ongoing environmental instability.  Like the 20% higher crop yields across  Canada this year, it would seem the Monarchs, too, have benefited from our incredible summer weather — even though temperatures of 1 to 3 degrees above normal across the board are signs of the coming environmental apocalypse.  (And as a side issue, can I just say that those people who point to colder winter temperatures, or the wonderful summer we’ve had, as proof that global warming is bogus need to be taken out and flogged.  Idjits.)

So … back to the wee butterflies.  **cue pastoral music**

Monarch butterflies are truly one of nature’s most awesome creations.  The ones you see migrating south each year are not the same ones that have migrated north earlier in the Spring.  Their life spans are not that long, and the incredible physical stress they endure to migrate thousands and thousands of miles wears them out.  Strictly one-way tickets for these little fellows, and once they arrive at their destination, they quickly spawn and then die.

Ok, I had a trip to Puerto Vallarta in my 20s that felt like that, but I’m speaking metaphorically.

Out walking with Molly this a.m., I spotted three butterflies today.  Earlier this week, I caught sight of two more.  I live right on the north shore of Lake Ontario, and seeing them here always makes me conscious of what a dangerous journey they are about to undertake across some 30 miles of open water and then another several thousand over land to Arizona, Texas, and ultimately Mexico.

The last time I recall seeing so many (not that five is so many, but relative to previous years) was in 2007.  Back then, almost to the day, I wrote a poem about it.  I have a titch of synesthesia sometimes, and often that’s how poetic images come to me:  I actually “hear” the flight of Monarchs as music.  They seem, to me, to be musical notes fluttering on the breeze.  And it’s a bittersweet symphony, knowing how fragile they are.  Knowing that we won’t see these beautiful creatures again … and knowing, too, that at some point we might not see them at all.

You can support conservation and environmental protection efforts for Monarchs by visiting this site and tracking any sightings you see: Monarch Butterfly Journey North.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Quarter notes upon a scale
Nature’s instrument plays air
Driven by a greater power
Than bird or bee or any flower

Over sea and over land
Polka dots and tiger bands
Heart of lion, grace of doe
Canada to Mexico

Aptly named for royalty
To fulfill their destiny
Gently wafting melody
Bittersweet, a memory

written:  September, 2007

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