Brimstone Butterfly, Autumn Gentian, Harebell

Female Brimstone butterfly

​​Being in the moment is the best thing,   In deep.
 
In the moment and mindful of all that has gone before,   here in this place,  for me and my friends, for others over time, over centuries as our stories interweave.

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 ​Flowers of felwort  open to the sun,  take us by surprise although I had searched  where I always find felwort and in season.   Frog orchis should be here,  should be showing.   A couple linger over a spot of ground and I hear the name  Gentianella amarella.   The plant he has found is  dark, tightly budding. He   knows  what he might find here in July. He has found frog orchid. I know where to look but today  we cannot not find one.  Felwort and frog orchid are the season's specials and I shall keep on looking, making a mind-map of where to find them from year to year.

Now harebells are  abundant.  By an anthill purple with thyme, with lady’s bedstraw,  thistle and yarrow I crouch low to picture the flowers and a voice  sings  gentle and low,   an old Welsh folk song time out of mind.  It's  called Clychau'r Eon.
 
As I was walking through the fields I bumped into a hare
I caught him by the ears and said, now bite me if you dare
He gave a little squeal and cried, if you will let me go
I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow
Where the lovely harebells grow
Come come I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow

Along the new mown hay we fled, in search of harebells blue
And sure enough we found a spot where thousands of them grew
Each trembling on its stalk as though surprised with sudden fear
And ringing out a tiny chime that only hares can hear
That only hares can hear
Come come, I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow
Where the harebells grow

Helsington Barrows is yellow with hawkbit,  flowers and seed-heads mingling together.  One o’clock,   a girl is blowing   parachute seeds into the air, letting the wind disperse them..

​I cannot tell how long I have waited to make the Brimstone my own, to bring home the picture, to bring home Brimstone,  to share the elegance and beauty of the butterfly.  In my mind’s-eye, I can see  Brimstone butterflies  I have watched vanishing into the distance.  Spring is the best time for Brimstone but in early summer we watched a pair spiralling over bramble bushes, and away.  Flighty butterflies, reluctant to settle.  Now a yellow butterfly flutters over  brambles and settles on a leaf.   One o’clock, two o’ clock.  Time stops  and I cannot tell how long. 
 
Wings shapely  like a pale green leaf, veined like a leaf.   The female under-wing is pale green, almost white,  with sunlight changing colours  on  my camera screen as I inch closer and move in an arc about her. She does not stir, her legs poised in the same pattern.    Legs of silken white.  Her  leaf-like camouflage is echoed in the dark spot and staining of the wings, like canker spots on the bramble leaf.  When she flies,  she is yellow. She alights  for a moment on a yellow hawkbit, and is gone.