Squinting behind the lens,
The rays of the morning sun happened upon her.
She sipped on a dew drop,
Opened her wings and offered herself to the sun.
Set to auto focus, he waited…
Annoyed at his intrusion,
She fluttered into flight.
A burst shot they call it.
Into the light she went.
Where he caught her at last.
The jar was set to the side,
Breathing holes on the lid,
Twigs and leaves as sparse decor,
Furious in her panicked state,
Without wind to flex her wings,
She bashed herself against the sides.
The powdery brilliance of her specked body grew dull,
The silky sheer wings grew to a heavy wool,
Where no amount of shaking in the sun will return her fierce fluttering passion.
After another night, he returned.
And without former brilliance, she was rolled out of the jar.
In the cold night beneath the foliage of garden variety weeds,
Far enough not to be disturbed,
Close enough to remain shadowed and moist,
Half crawling, Half fluttering,
She left a shimmering white orb.