Septic Butterflies

With temperatures in the 90's every day we were well underway to aquiring the prairie browns and tans of grass color that signifies high summer and early fall. But a storm a few days ago dropped another 1/2 inch of rain conserving the green that has been such a pleasure this year, both to our eyes and to those who are putting up hay. In the photo the taller long weeds and grasses in the middle and left of the picture, are those that are fed by the drainage field from the septic tank. They remind me of one of the first poems that I wrote:

Saturday Moments

Blue skies
puffy white clouds
sunlight;
shadows created
by clouds across the sun.

I sit outdoors,
my oily body producing rivulets of sweat
which trickle down my throat,
collect in a stream,
and flow into the fold between my breasts.

Cool breezes flow through the pine trees
the sound reminding me of surf
rolling up to touch my feet,
and spending laughing days
running along the beach.

A shadow touches my eyelids.
A vulture caught in the breeze

passes overhead.
One wing dips, and momentarily
he changes course;
looks down at me.

Dead flesh he thinks?
I smile.
Not today
I call,
and he flies on.

White butterfies
flutter through the lush weeds
growing on the drainage field.
I chuckle, happy to consider
that my waste
creates a playground for butterflies.

A multitude of swallows circle angrily,
disturbed by some predator?
A moment later they are gone
calm's restored, and I hear water
rushing over rocks below the hill.

Blue skies
Puffy white clouds
Sunlight;
Shadows created
by clouds across the sun.