It pops up where you might not expect, unbidden. Take a slow walk on a summer day. Down a dirt road scattered with puddles from last night’s downpours. Let the sun make its comeback. Thoreau himself might have sauntered down this same path. Who knows? Frost could’ve written a poem around here without even trying. Suddenly, a small cloud of blue butterflies startles up from their cooling drink of rainwater. How willing they are to land on anything that lets them.
from a firefly