A large winged yellow butterfly swept across my field of vision.

Was it a Dogface Southern butterfly or Clouded Sulphur butterfly?

She zipped and curled around the Aspens in my backyard.   

Then, flittered to the Lilacs, then to the Alyssum.

Freedom spilled around her as her wings parted the humidity

Dripping off the dry air and landing on the grass shards

Stretching upward to the fence post and deck motifs. Suddenly

Now, three yellow butterflies are swiveling and teasing.

Hollyhocks are climbing too, and tiny slits mark the soft

Blushing furled petals peeking out from their finial-like bedding.

They are scouting out the mood amongst the amigo trio

Lingering around the prairie green—corralled but not mown.

Socialites, the feline kind, stalk, and balk amongst the hairy,

Unshaven yard where squirrels don’t dare to tread. Perched high

On the surrounding utility poles, squawking Black Crows

Wait for the closing of the mauve door before they swoop

Onto lime painted rails to steal a Friskies morsal from the

White Persian cat winking at the Van cat by the stairs.

It’s summertime in my backyard and neighbors are lighting

Grills and tuning stereos. Wilson Picket’s “In the Midnight

Hour” ruptures the jungle quiet and flips rhythms across fences.

Neighbors, with and without masks, wave to celebrate

Freedom won long ago, and freedom gained this summer

From vaccinations disrobing away those deadly Covid variants.

Freedom looks like a large yellow butterfly swimming in the air

Beckoning all of us to waltz and whisper loudly, Freedom!