(originally published April, 2021) the caterpillars have come back, once again sporting such April fashion sense. first spring of Season 2. seemingly recent arrivals crawling along the catwalk with with all the determination of a a young upstart. single undulating inch draped with a fur coat of pale-yellow static. bright dandelion faces on a mission. depending on the angle, you’d have to take their word that underneath it all, legs like tiny elephant stumps are driving them to quest. rampaging through an emerald forest of wild blades, or across cloverleaf treetops. searching for food, shelter. future. but despite the scourge of denying science, i refuse to believe these aren’t the same garden dwellers from Season 1. chrysalis reassigned. from spring of 2020, all the way to one year later, they simply hibernated. metamorphosis on hold. something in the air. atmospheric conditions. an upside down emergence where butterflies are no longer an indisputable, immutable wonder of this world. these aren’t the same curious whilings of the previous occasion they paid us a visit. they have questions for us, today. caught in comprehension, unsure how the same skies, alternately sunny or clouded with gray, remain out of reach, even after all this time spend sleeping. wandering in illusion, aimless and angry, asking us in a hushed caterwaul exactly how we could have possibly allowed this to happen.

 

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in print: Amazon.com or for fucking free in digital Smashwords.com so long and thanks for all the pish.