The Second Day of Christmas . . .

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After all the butterflies for Christmas the other day, the breezes that be are blowing a few more your way, as the spirit of Christmas shouldn't be limited to a single day. Going back thousands of years, long before anyone had ever heard of a fellow named Christ, there were pagan feasts in the days after the 21st of December to celebrate the fact that the days were getting longer again. And that, imho, is an excellent reason to put on a big party. The feasting and partying at the start of winter got hijacked along the course of history by European culture for certain religious purposes, but I think it is good to remember that these post winter solstice celebrations go much farther back. So in that spirit, here are a couple more butterflies to bring you tidings of joy : The days are getting longer again !
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Baskets Full of Butterflies . . .

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I was trying to think of what I could get you all for Christmas
If I could get you anything, anything at all
And after a little reflection, it finally came to me
What better gift for bloggers than butterflies ?
Oodles of butterflies . . . bundles of butterflies
Baskets full and boxes and bags and wheelbarrows
All full of butterflies
Butterflies to let loose in your life
Bouncing on the breeze
Frolicking from one flower to the next
Fluttering freely in flight
Alighting where they will
Gracing purple blooms in your afternoons
For are we not all a bit like butterflies
Flapping from one blog to another
Resting a fleeting moment, then fleeing
Pollinating, cross pollinating
And off again to the fertile fields of daydreams . . .
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All of an Autumn Afternoon . . .

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A quiet autumn Sunday afternoon in northern France, just starting to think about getting out and going for a walk along some ponds not far from here, when la Grenouille said, "Quick, come see, there are butterflies outside." So picking up the camera, out I went, and sure enough, the hedge along the side of the yard which had just put out some green flowers (talk about a late bloomer !) was crawling with butterflies of a variety I hadn't recalled seeing around here before. So, click, clack, Kodak, went the camera, and the following pictures are what resulted.
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Sometimes one doesn't have to go far afield to find captivating subject matter. In case you're curious, this is Vanessa atalanta, of the Nymphalinae family. It simply astounds me that such vivid colors can exist in nature. Orange on black like that; what evolutionary purpose did that serve ? Even if it is purely decorative, how on earth did these vibrant colors in such harmonious patterns come to be ? It boggles the mind. But then, my mind is easily boggled, as you might have come to conclude by now.
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Her (well, if she's named "Vanessa", it must be a "her", right?) antennae seemed to be lit up at the ends... I wonder what she does with them ?
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Vanessa wasn't the only one out there enjoying these Fall blooms... Mr. Bumblebee was out buzzing about as well, they were sharing the wealth.
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A closer look reveals subtle shadings that I would have never been able to even begin to create if I'd sat down and put pastel crayons to paper.
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And then we were off for our stroll by the ponds known as les Etangs de Commelles, where quiet paths go along the water for quite a good walking distance. Some autumn colors are starting to come out. Does the orange in the butterfly wings help it blend in against autumn leaves ?  Or was Vanessa atalanta simply afraid that no one would look at her if she didn't put on some bright colors ?
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Reflections abound in the still water of the ponds, which have been there since the 13th century when they were constructed by monks from a nearby monastery.
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At one end of the stretch of water stands the Chateau de la Reine Blanche, whose origins date from around 1300. Columbus wouldn't "discover" America until nearly 200 years later. Visible history like this is what I love about France.
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The ponds were created along a small river by monks long ago to make a place for fish to breed. Even today people are still pulling fish out of those ponds. And no small fry either !!!
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These gentlemen watch over the water night and day, day and night, though one had turned his head to speak with a pigeon.
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Just under the balcony there were four most fearsome dragons perched there. Blurred by the rippling water in the reflected image above, this gives you a better idea.
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When they start stoking up their internal fires in preparation for taking off and soaring about the countryside to wreak havoc by burning down towns and hamlets, the light around them is transformed.
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Or perhaps it was the magic lantern hanging between the dragons that transformed the light ? One never knows what magic lanterns are capable of, their powers are strange and mysterious.
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A Most Beautiful Place . . .

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I'm not sure that I will be able to find any words to express what I felt when I stumbled on this magical place. I had sought it out, it is true, having seen symbols on a map which suggested there might be something worth seeing there. Symbols of the slightest, vaguest sort, which simply indicated a handful of ruins. But oh, the distance between maps and reality can be infinite. No map could have prepared me for the sight of these ruins as we came over a crest of ground and beheld them there, where they stand in majestic silence, near the edge of a high cliff, overlooking a deep valley beyond.
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Hundreds of years ago men from the valley below climbed those cliffs, found a path to the plateau above, and built these rudimentary, rustic shelters where they could pass the summers peacefully alone with their small herds of sheep and goats, in an idyllic, remote, thoroughly secret place. Their women from the village in the valley would have made the hike up there as well to keep the men company, bringing food and other supplies. Who could imagine the summer nights under star filled skies there, a fire burning, the smell of sheep, their wool, milk for cheese-making. Who were these people ? Of what did they die, where are they buried ? And how did they live ? No electricity, no computers, no phones, just survival at hand. Work or starve.
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And yet they built with beauty and grace; arches that still stand when all the stones around have fallen, conquered by gravity. The sense of wonder I felt there, almost overwhelming, is unlike anything I've ever felt, anywhere. This was real. This was alive. Though no one lives there today, the place never died. It will haunt me for a long time to come, maybe forever. Already I want to go back there. To just sit quietly among those stones.
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An ancient iron hinge piece to hold up a shutter, long ago disintegrated.
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A butterfly on an acanthus bloom, looking as though he'd flown through a storm.
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Wings . . .

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After the last rather long, and perhaps a bit exhausting, installment in this ongoing menagerie of a blog, I thought I'd spare you and keep it simple this time. These two butterflies, or flutterbyes, have been waiting patiently since July to walk on stage here. You could say they've been waiting... in the wings.
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