I am the Butterfly. I am the whisper on light black wings. I am the one who will haunt your dreams. Watch me as my form so small, it it plays among the grasses big and tall. I am with the forest of my own mind. I am fresh and I am new. I am a puppy as they say. Life that is young, young in that I have seen only so many suns. I am the Butterfly, as I venture into the unknown. I know no fear for I am young. I move and I do so as best I can. I am, however, so small, and the world, however, is so big. I wonder. I wonder how big it is. The earth so green climbs so high among the blue. Is it reaching? Is growing? Does the mountain so high morph all on its own? Or is it my own perspective? I stare with my eyes so special, so tawny they say with explosions of my mother within. You see, my mother, the female so wild, so free, so filled with joy explodes on her own, that she bursts our of my very eyes. My RAINBOW, of many colors they say, they say she dances in the sky on paws so delicate and paws so light. This rainbow of which I came.

Yet I am not the rainbow that dances in the sky. I am the Butterfly, on dark wings. Black fur is what I have, black like the darkness in the den at night, a comfort I held at the very beginning of my birth and can hold again so dearly, so close to me like an old friend when I sleep. Yet I am not as pure as the shadow of the night. I am more than just the darkness, I am in constant fight. You see, I have noticed among me is the moon, the moon so bright, untarnished light. For every other hair here or there is of the moon, so obscure yet so there, no shadow can beat out the light, not completely not really. My face, they say...they say I am the Butterfly, silver and beautiful, for I am marked as such, as if the winged insects came down from their home in the sky, in the clouds from up above and kiss my face. I am the Butterfly.

The world is but my playground. I see with my eyes and I follow, I follow with bounds and leaps, I fly for moments in time, moments sure pure, moments so sweet when I free of the earth, of the grass, and am nothing but air complete. Temptation is everywhere and I crave to see more, more of this beauty, this newness of life. It smells, the world, it smells so sweet, like honey dripping off a maple laced tree. I inhale the warm air into my body, I let it become apart of me because that is life, that is existence and I am alive. I let the life and air run through my body, run and run and I find myself running like the life within me so desires. I sing. My voice. It is of beauty so small, so little and so dainty. I vibrate the world that is mine with my own self and I know that I am powerful. I can whisper and I can scream. I can be all of these things. But I am the Butterfly.

I see it. Yes, I do, it is another, another that moves. I find myself low, low to the dirt and hidden among the green. My eyes or fixed like when the sun stares into your soul, on the other about my height tall. All around me others chirp, others sings and others crawl, so I crawl and I dominate, I am like the water rolling down the hill, I push the tall green aside as I see it, it that is like me. Yet so different. It is not the darkness of the den, it is the lightness of the sun against the shadow. It is of colors I have never seen. I stare with a stare of the sun, for she is of the sun and I am of the shadow. I see more. I see what it sees. It sees me though it is not I, it sees the butterfly. The butterfly is me and I is it. I feel my insides thump against my chest. I feel it so hard, so strong and so strange, it is new, this sensation and some call it rage. It of gold, it desires the death of me that is I, the other butterfly.

I feel an urge, a push from within. My paws be unskilled in traversing the world in my new skin. I feel a rush to stop the it, the gold of the sun and to let the butterfly run. I move and I come up behind it, an instinct kicks in from its scent. Girl. It is female but that means nothing than what it is, she is gold and she lusts for death of my kind. I leap, I leap so grand through the air once the she is close, I shall land on her, I shall, and I shall knock her to the ground. Myself will get away, my other me that is the butterfly. Today is my day, and I calmly say, "Butterfly, get away."