Sometimes butterflies from long ago get forgotten between pages of lace and light and notebook paper, and then one day you find them in the window, right where you left them.

The paper in the window made the butterfly look like part of a postcard showing the parking lot of a mall or motel.  I think I liked these images for that reason.  My pictures are often feel like postcards, coming from somewhere previously unseen by me, even if elements of them are very familiar.  Sometimes I worry that I am making the same picture over and over again.  That’s how it is to make something.  You have to do it with what is in front of you – where else would you find the components?  And any good story is worth telling twice.

This little butterfly was so tired when she got home from work that she couldn’t remember any stories to tell.  She  just settled into my hand and fell asleep.  The End.

These butterflies covered a page in my enchanted notebook, lined with glimpses of shadow and light.  Can you read what  the butterflies are saying, between the lines?

Gaze into this crystal ball, and the deepest wish of your heart – to be happy and joyful – gathers form and becomes real.  It gave me a butterfly blossom.  What will reveal your heart’s wish to you?

The rustle of butterflies, the flutter of pages…is there any difference?  Words and wings, all captured in the net of memory, wafting great distances of the slightest puff of a breeze.

As you read, does a tiny butterfly rise up, freed from its slumber by your imagination?  Or is it your imagination that slumbers, not quite ready to emerge?

If you whisper to the butterfly, something is sure to begin….