Monarch Chronicles

"This love letter, folded in two, is looking for a flowery address."
– Renard, "The Butterfly"










The blown glass of the compass plant has risen over night to new heights. Some petals dangle over as if by purpose by the hand of the master craftsman. When it was dark, three petals dropped. They turned to an amber hue the same color as molasses but see through so that when it rose, suspended by motion, you could see the tincture of the white moon through its surface which created white spots as electric as stars. A stem of wrought iron spread like veins to hold it all together, eyes and antenna molded to a vibration that followed the way the pollen flew.