Sleep, these days was a
rare butterfly that refused capture until it lay exhausted,
clinging precariously to the underside of some green leaf. The woman
watched it a moment in the half-light as it rested fragile and
delicate suspended in the mist until weary wings collapsed and it
slipped away gently to the forest floor. A morning bird had been
watching too. The flash of movement had attracted his attention. He
hushed his sun song and swooped down landing with perfect precision
to where the butterfly lay. He cocked his head from side to side
inspecting the fallen with a keen and critical eye. At last, finding
it quite suitable for a hungry bird's breakfast, snatched it up and
carried it high into the branches of a tall oak. With two great
gulps, the butterfly was gone and the bird continued his task of
waking the sun.
The sun complied and rose
hot and sticky. It quickly blasted away the last bits of coolness.
Sweat prickled and creased rivers down her back. The woman sighed. It
was going to be a long day- a very long day indeed.
