As they bounced through the hay, they set a nest of white moths a-scatter, and Karen cried in glee, ‘Lisa! Check out all the little butterflies.’ ...‘Never mind the butterflies,’ Lisa answered, gesturing broadly for Karen to come on. ‘I wanna catch a dragonfly and check it out, and the dragonflies are down here by the swamp.’ In the spring, the area was truly a swamp, the small stream that cut through the meadow overflowing with run-off. But now, it was reduced to patches of mud and muck and. Did she dream? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews? This night was anything but still. Outside, rain and wind pelted the glass balcony doors and I could see a swirling, spectral sky pulse with lightning. I blew out all the candles and held her close to me in the darkness. The smoke from the burning wax gave the room something of the aura of a Byzantine church. But no pallid. More

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