butterflies at sunset

Ai Hua

sunset bike rides against the dribble dapple of waltzing creeks. little tunes, like little butterflies soaring over fields of tall tan wheat. waiting to be mixed with smiles and love before set to rest upon a window sill. a window sill that looks out for those who ride their bike by the wheat, against the creek, and with the autumn breeze. carrying baked bread, fresh morning, and sweet lily pad scents up, up, up over the hill where she used to rest and read. under an oak so old, lovers have become embedded and rings have been found aplenty.

sunset bike rides are best when one forgets everything in their pretty little mind and instead converses with butterflies. they would tell of such fantastical and sweet stories, call them adventures, and end them sooner than one would’ve liked. each story sounded familiar, but nobody knew where they must’ve heard it from. instead, they would look over to the oak on a hill where she used to rest and read. butterflies with the minds of a storyteller by the fire, knew exactly of the stories they’ve shared.

on sunset bike rides converse with butterflies. then once one’s run out of dribble dapple to listen to, fresh bread to nibble on, and they let an autumn breeze take them up, up, up… one may let their mind recall stories that they’ve read, as they rest.