A glimpse of a memory
is all that remains.
a flash of intricate patterns and colors
float gracefully around me

A majestic stiffness in their wings
as they prey upon the sweet nectar of the
lavender’s labor

It’s a place not far from here,
just a warm summer’s jog down the
asphalt streets.
beside the ongoing lanes,
lies a gnarled ancient oak that my sister and I
used to attempt to scamper up.

the oak presumptuously stares
down
at a raging river of a stream, or so I thought
years ago.

Though if I was to look once more
upon the spot of my childhood fantasy,
through the eyes of the glistening summer sun,
and the giant imagination of of a small girl

I bet anything that the rainbow
of gentle fluttering wings
would return.