On a dewy morning, dreamy butterflies laugh, and shimmering lake braids sway with a welcoming calm announcing the joy in life. There are the butterflies brushing their hair with happiness behind velvet dreams and dim lights. There behind my flight, I will go out with the dew-drenched birds to the field early, and gather shade-stories, and what butterflies have forgotten. I feel the scent of flowers permeating my pores and the depths of my memory getting brighter with every butterfly I find in the quiet fields. Oh, how wonderful butterflies live in the snow, drawing paths for me to wander like a forgotten ghost. You know butterflies are the sound of water and when they descend on the corners of town, knocking on dream doors until window lights sparkle on a wintry morning, as if a forgotten vacation has come home before sunrise. I see the soft light of their mystery hearts. they are colorful and soft as the face of the moon. They promised to show me the gates of colored dreams. They always tell me of the strange purity of every sleeping lake pearl and every smile that bursts into the sky.