The first butterfly

Willow Blooms #007- On what enters the liminal spaces

This week I had the pleasure of chatting to

Kerri ní Dochartaigh

about her writing. She had a profound impact on my day! One of the many things that I have reflected on since, is that whatever lens she writes with, everything is deeply grounded in nature. She often writes of the magic of liminal spaces and the stillness within these gaps being a place from which great creativity and connection arises. And always she brings tenderness.

After our conversation I went for a walk, and had my own exquisite experiences of liminality.

The louding of nature

Between where I had come from, and where I was going, I contemplated a sea of red mud. My legs were not long enough to stretch, I thought, so I wondered for a while, thinking where I could put my feet to get closest to the stile, whilst avoiding the most water and goo. It was like an equation involving mud, water, the number of steps and sure footing. I wanted to get it right as the stakes seemed high- I was wearing my walking boots rather than my wellies, and didn’t want to get them too dirty! I’d revelled in the bird sounds coming from the bushes and trees as I’d navigated a short stretch of the coastal path, and was retracing my steps back to the car. Now the mud was threatening to take me down!

I committed myself to a decision, taking a big step towards the right hand side, when something caught my eye. Flitting over and away from the fence, a brown butterfly disappeared somewhere over the grass. Whatever heaviness I felt from the climb, and the contemplation of getting stuck in the mud, immediately lifted, and a wide smile spread across my face. I clambered over the stile just in time to watch a lady walking a dog, passing me on the other side of the fence. The side of the fence from which I had just come. I laughed at myself- I had not needed to expend so much effort negotiating the field boundary and all the red mud after all. My route may have been more difficult than it needed to be, but it brought me across the path of butterfly. Life’s challenges can enable us to appreciate the beauty.

It was the first butterfly I’d seen in 2024. There is always something magical about the first butterfly of the year.

Later I tried to identify it using the useful online guide of the Devon wildlife trust. I can’t say that I felt confident in getting a match, given all that I had to work with was a ‘flash of brown’. I found a couple of possibilities. The meadow brown butterfly, the guide said, is seen between June to September, so was an unlikely match. Another butterfly of a similar colour was the comma. Although the images online showed this species to have orangey brown wings, the underside of the male comma is brown. The woodland trust website says that these butterflies can be seen on warm winter days, but emerge properly in March. The date at least fit!

A possible match? I am none the wiser, but certainly more joyful. Though, the next sentence I read was bittersweet-

It is believed climate change and the increase in temperatures are the reason this butterfly is thriving.

Whilst we lose many native species, others thrive. Nature is always transforming.

Later still, I drove home in the dark. A ghostly figure at the side of the road caught my eye, and I turned for a moment for a better look. In the dim wake of my headlights I saw a roe deer in the shadowy roadside, head up, standing in the grass. Wonder and fear made a strange cocktail for my body, and I eased my foot off the accelerator, concerned that the animal would rush out into the road, or that there were others further along the roadside that might. I did not see any, but I drove home more alert. Three badgers had lined a small stretch of road I’d driven along only days before, and I didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of more creatures.

Closer to my destination, I drove along windy roads through woods, then fields, then a tree lined section into the edge of town. Another shadowy shape came at me, from the right side this time, heading straight and fast towards the windscreen. Before I could react, the bird leaned sharply, flapping its wide wings. It made a U-turn, arcing back on itself and flying just in front of my car. I wanted to see it better. I wanted to identify it. Most of all though, I wanted not to hit it. I kept my eyes on the road, resisting the urge to scan around for a final glimpse. No matter what I wanted, its flight was faster than mine, and the owl was already lost to the darkness.

At my destination, I stepped out of the car and gazed up into the clear night sky, filled with stars. They are brighter here, I thought.

The day before I’d watched the squally storm from the window and didn’t emerge until it was over. Something shifted overnight, and the beauty of the world flew at me from every direction.

Nothing lasts forever but the certainty of change

Bruce Dickinson, Innerspace

Nature is calling louder for us to listen.