flutter

We are inundated with butterflies and moths here. I've never seen anything quite like it. I'm not sure if it's Vermont, or our little cluster of cottages in particular, but they are everywhere.

Each morning we walk out to find giant, bright green or pale grey or deep brown moths resting on the woodpile or the deck. Slowly flapping their wings, crawling onto our fingers, their long beards tickling our palms.

Walking down the road, or driving away in the car, sends up a wave of blue and black and white butterflies who rest on the gravel, sunning themselves. Graceful yellow and black butterflies swoop around, tiny white moths flutter against screens.

The kids find lost wings and dying butterflies in the grass and move them to trees or flowers or bury them by the little stream. They run around with their net trying to catch the healthy ones. It['s like watching a swarm of bees sometimes, there are so many, except the butterflies are slower, and they bob and dart to avoid the net.

Our butterfly book is in storage, so we have plans to look for one at the library when we go later this week so that we can identify our flying neighbors. After all, when you're new, you have to get to know the neighbors, right?