butterfly rescue. 57th st. beach.

32 butterflies is a an indulgence, i know, but i couldn't pick ones to edit. i asked r. and she couldn't either, so she said, keep them all. 
soon after the butterfly rescue the sun came out after several days of cold gray fog and rain. the butterfly was a good sign. i stayed and felt the empty place with r. and penny and jasper gone, and i kept almost seeing them i expected them so. walking on the beach, furrowed with tractor rows, i walked just shy of the edge of the water where it was tide smoothed and just after telling mister, we'll just go down to the end, i wasn't expecting anything, and then i saw the butterfly, too cold and wet to fly. i hope now the butterfly's wings have dried and the butterfly is flying over the waves in the sun.

this reminded me of last time when i had a meeting like that, though that time the butterfly was fine and dry, flying around me and mister. it was summer and the butterfly was dancing circles over and over, landing on the weathered concrete platform where we swim, drinking from tiny puddles and dancing round again. i could have been there forever, and i made even more pictures, it was such a rare moment, and why i made so many, i wanted to extend the time and drink it later like the butterfly now, unrolling its long tongue and sipping puddles, and i wanted to be in the pictures with the butterfly, to remember, to be there in the moment forever with the butterfly, mister and me.