Monarch butterflies have become important symbols for me during the five years since my husband, Bill Barrie, died. When I was newly widowed, I began writing poems as a way of working through my grief. Here is one about monarch butterflies:
Monarch butterflies are rare now, I've heard,
yet two came to our garden this year's end.
The first I spotted six hours after Bill died,
crawling on my grandson's rugby ball.
Its wing is torn; it will die soon, he said,
and fed it honey. Then it disappeared.
Seven weeks later I saw one dancing
in still air over fuchsia flowers
and is orange glory made my heart sing.
It fluttered away then reappeared
jet black. Had death come again?
Suddenly it flew back into colour –
I'd been watching its shadow on the wall.
From forty-nine days after death, Buddhists say,
spirits of dead travel from one life to the next.
Perhaps the butterfly king was Bill on his way.
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| Monarch butterfly on rugby ball. Ann Barrie 2015 |
This summer of 2021 is my last at Owhiro Bay. Forty-five years after I came to live here with Bill Barrie, I have sold the house. In a few months' time, I will move to a retirement village in nearby Kilbirnie. There are lovely gardens, and Bill would be pleased to see me happy there.
Meanwhile, I've enjoyed the chrysalides on my grandson's two swan plants at Owhiro Bay. And I was relieved when some of them delayed hatching until he arrived for a visit. Mesmerised, I took a series of photos.
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New-born monarch butterfly. Ann Barrie 2021 |
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| Child holding Monarch butterfly. Ann Barrie 2021 |
Blog by Ann Barrie |
