THE BUTTERFLY’S EMBRACE

A Time-Travelling Tale that ends well

Christmas Day, 2842CE. A universe aeons away goes ‘phut’: In no more than a picosecond, complete darkness. The only sound, that of a whispering zephyr. In its wake, a pseudo macrocosm’s ever-decreasing guttural burps fading away into a soundless zilch. Left behind, ruination’s nothingness. The crumpled scum perished. Once relishing in a perverse, now empty, endlessness, lovely Lily’s mission is over and done with.  

A field south of Paris, 1938CE: As of the newborn moment, looking skyward, a sparkling flash of disco-dancing stars, glittering like pale turquoise precious gems on a black velvet backcloth, she rediscovered her sanity. Heavenly bodies magical frolics short-lived, a momentary spectacle foretelling serendipity had taken her back home. Pure-blooded time had slumbered far too long. Quick-witted incandescent celestial prima ballerinas now tripping the light fantastic, just for her. An extravaganza that put menacing iniquity to shame, for it had had its tedious chance and failed abysmally.

In the blink of an eye, all-changed, for now it was the turn of the sun, a sun that certainly had its hat on. Tickled pink blue-sky thinking, eclipsed desolation’s salacious blues. Under a tangerine orb she lay prostrate upon a wild flower meadow, its continuous cover of grasses, nature’s carpet as far as the eye could see, interrupted only with abstract, yet welcomed floral squatters, mostly sweet violets, cow parsley, honeysuckle, daisies and her all-time favourites, the enchanted nightshades. Put side by side, a purple, white and green flag of an avant-garde Eden.

As absurd as it seemed to be, she did not know what she should do with her pre-owned legs, legs that had walked a zillion miles across other-worldly eggshells. What had happened to her indelicate bracelets, cheap and nasty body jewellery and humiliating ribbon tethers previously forced upon her? Not that she gave a flying fuck about yesterday’s trinkets. Time would tell, it always does. Yet here, in the middle of somewhere, all was tranquil, her nakedness now a depiction of explicit purity.

An exceptionally bold, large-chequered skipper butterfly, landed upon her breast. Unusually for such a generally timid creature, he lingered longer than arguably necessary. As if cursed by a wicked witch, this fluttering prince charming from an olde fairy-tale stayed put as he awaited her sweetheart kiss, in dire hope that she was the princess he’d been searching for, for decades. “I’m sorry Your Royal Highness, I am not a princess,” the only thing she could think of to say at the time. Taking a short flit from breast to lips, he kissed her anyway, then off he flew, a yo-yo like flight, as he bounced along the tips of the virgin wild flowers. It was only then, after that butterfly’s embrace, so typical of gallant yet incorrigible Frenchmen, that she knew for certain that she was definitely home again, home in her beloved France, safe from harm.

Finally, Lily’s most favoured song of all. She tells me ’tis but a song to bathe by.

Hell’s bells it’s been a long time since I last posted. I’ve missed your company.

These days I’m under considerable pressure to become ‘The Old Fool’ I once was…rather than the ‘Miserable Old Sod’ they say I presently am. Annoyingly, for the last eleven months I’ve been cursed with what I term, ‘Little Englander Isolationist’ disease. ‘Tis a pure white bacteria attracted to free-thinkers within a cosmopolitan society. I didn’t stand a chance. It has had serious ramifications effecting both my mind and body to the extent it has made me rather ill. That said, it is the most puzzling experience when signals from a guilt-free brain are brushed aside by an apathetic body.

That said, on a happier note, should my recent work take your fancy, herewith the links. I believe the Kindle thingy is free; the paperback inexpensive;

Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved. Unauthorised copying, reproduction, hiring, and lending, prohibited although in a crisis I’ve no issue with any reader using the pages of said books as emergency’s loo roll.


48 thoughts on “THE BUTTERFLY’S EMBRACE

    1. My thanks Annette. I trust all is well with you. Do have a splendid New Year, you’re one of the caring souls…there aren’t too many of you these days. Regards, The Old Fool

    1. I’ve not as yet replied to your earlier messages. Rest assured that I will, young Holly. ‘Tis with the greatest pleasure you comment upon these words given I let you down upon the tale we created yet thus far not put to pen. Rest assured I’ll do you proud when I put it together. You write with passion, you write very well indeed. A Happy New Year from The Old Fool.

      1. Dear Mike, I hope you are well. I had so much fun with our epic tale I do think it deserves outing but if not it remains one of the highlights of my writing career. ( stop laughing), sending many hugs dear friend.

      2. Thank you so much, young Holly. I have calculating consultants on my case presently fathoming what I might or might have not got. Random flares within a fading body…yet muscular, I stress, when compared to an elephant seal…make themselves known in the most curious ways. Irksome, yet in the right frame of mind, tolerable. The tale will be done. I’m back in the ‘zone’ and look forward to the write. I have, long since, it all saved on Word, so I have no excuses. Yours, The Incredibly Old Fool

      3. I’ll have none of that. All gals are young gals. It’s the way it should be, after all my cause for many a long year is the gals should rule of world. Us chaps have messed up running nations ever since they evolved. ‘Tis the turn of the young gals to make the planet a better place.

      4. I couldn’t agree more, time has shown the world is in the wrong hands. Imagine the infamous war of hair pulling , ( biting was off limits) no lives were lost. Yay for the Matriarchy. 😊

      5. Seriously young Holly, I have held the belief for years that women, particularly in terms of politics, must be in charge. One only has to look at New Zealand, Scotland and Germany to see how effective women can be. Yes, in the UK Parliament a few of the women act like their male counterparts, yet for the majority they are all vastly more capable than the men. Better put, I cannot think of one male MP I don’t loath. Albeit a guess, in society in general for every 100 women, at least 95 will be, compassionate, wise, thoughtful gals. For every 100 men, you’d be lucky to find a dozen worth knowing. I think it all went wrong when the male god got the raving hump with Eve for tempting Adam over the issue with the apple, without even considering that Adam accepted it willingly. She took all the blame. To believers, and back in those days there were a lot of believers, the gals got treated like second best humans from that point on. ‘Tis time to rectify his error of judgement, methinks so says The Old Fool.

      6. Completely agree with you Mike. Seems the female gender will always have to fight for their rights, after all women did not get the right to vote in the US until 1920, still we are treated as second class citizens but we are coming up in the ranks much the chagrin of the misogynists.

      7. True story, young Holly. Once long ago my dear Shirl was at a garage. Mid feeding, the old fashion way, the baby version of George she managed not only to fill the car with petrol but also pumped up the tyres on…to me… the impossible gadget machine thingy that pumped up tyres if you put the right amount of money in and prayed to whomsoever one’s male god might be. She achieved her purpose for being while I, at home, cooked a classic curry, one dish at a time. I rest my case. If us chaps did the housework…obviously one thing at a time…and left you gals at a free choice of what they fancied to do, this world of ours would be a much better place.

  1. Welcome back, Mike! What a year it has been! But you know what my friend, it is unlikely the things are going to get better over night, so let’s start kicking and stroking towards a better shore. We will make it. This mess won’t last forever. It is already a year and a half since I started kicking, so I know it works 😉
    I discovered that I have missed your newest book. Got it now. Keep them coming 😉
    Wishing you all the best things for the New 2021. Many hugs ❤

    1. I am of the opinion that it will be Autumn 2021 before we have a hope of ending this curious period of history. I find it strange that the vaccine hasn’t been aimed at the 16-40 year olds first. On balance they are the spreaders of the disease. Once immune the spread of this curse would dissipate. Keep kicking Inese, keep kicking for you’re doing it right. I’m impressed at your stalwart take on life. I’ve already wished you a Happy New Year on your blog, yet will say it again. ‘Happy New Year’. Regards, Mike

      1. My 40 years old medical professional friend has got the vaccine two weeks ago. I think my daughter is getting it soon. But it is a virus, and the viruses mutate. People will have to be re-vaccinated every year or so. Then you have to count in the antivax an anti-mask folks… So, the kicking is probably all we can do 🙂 Happy New Year, dear friends ❤

      2. I understand the County of Kent where we live gave birth to the mutations. It’s running wild in these parts. I’m surprised Trump hasn’t named it, ‘The Kent, England Virus’ as opposed to his ‘Chinese’ version at the outset. But yes, my own doctor has basically said what you have. It’s more like flu than the black death, and as with flu vaccines, they change every year. Anyway, I trust your New Year will be wonderful.

  2. I was thinking about you just the other day, wondering if another post would be forthcoming. I hope you’ve been well. It was fun to listen to a Traffic song. (My husband was a big fan back in the olden days.)

    1. Lovely to hear from you. Indeed I trust you and yours are all well. If the truth be told my absence from WP was born of a stress related issue that, 11 months ago now, came to manifest itself not just as a mind problem but a body one also. My brain…such as it is…has been sending out messages to the body that said body cannot fathom. It seems to be a never ending curse. Such is life. I have to say, back in the day, Traffic were also one of my favourite bands. Take care, Regards, The Old Fool

  3. MASTER STEEDEN!!! Oh, how wonderful to hear from you again. I know just what you mean about feeling isolated and doing one’s damndest to get back into things. I teach full-time online, which has saved me from running around helping sixteen different schools, but Biff and Bash are still learning online as their school’s remained closed. The combination of 150 university students and twin terrors has just…ugh. Writing has hardly happened at all, and it’s draining and I HATE IT. But I have hopes for 2021 in many regards, including creativity. Now that I know more about the workload and what’s expected–and the twins are *supposed* to return to school in late January–I foresee a better creative journey ahead. For you and me both, I hope! xxxxxx

    1. A jolly fine thing to hear from you, Ms Lee. Working hard and catering for small sprogs under the dark cloud of imperceptible yet deadly bugs cannot be ideal. You have my sympathy. If there is a beam of light it is that said sprogs, indeed sprogs worldwide, live…for the main part, at least…devoid of the tortures of adult’s traumas and concerns. The planet is falling apart, yet innocent sprogs will never see the big picture. I envy you and them in that regard. Good luck to Biff and Bash. My year has been a pain. My next year may well mirror that. You mention a lake of creativity. Such creativity cannot come easy to a maternal juggler. Being an old fart who couldn’t juggle for toffee, these last few months, clad in my perma-dressing gown, stomping around the house as if a gaunt elephant who can’t remember his way home, has, surprisingly, been the opposite. To take my mind off my malaise I’ve thrown a barrack of forbidding words at the page. That they need an exuberant inoculation edit to lighten their Aleister Crowley ‘mood’, a certainty. That said, ‘tis a pure pleasure to hear from you. Regards, The Old Fool often referred to as a Miserable Old Sod in these times of bewilderment.

      1. Hey, you ARE still stomping around, and you ARE getting back to it, Master Steeden, and that is to be celebrated! While 2021 will carry some of 2020’s ripples, I do think it could be brighter and better than this year. There are big changes coming to my country, and I’m sure your country won’t be too far behind. Chin up, Friend. Life will change for all of us soon. xxxxxx

  4. Thank you, Mike, I enjoyed reading that. And I do hope that your body and mind settle into a happier relationship. Welcome back and may this coming year bring good changes. Margaret

    1. I am, most likely, the worse person to ask for assistance, Lavender. In short I am hopeless. All I can say is that your new site serves as your website and in order to bring the bees to the pollen you will need to post blogs on a regular basis. Follow and let follower, perhaps the key. That way you build said following and somewhere along the way you may find you have customers for your art/cartoon project in all its various glory that others might well want for their next or current project. Best of good fortune. The Old Fool

      1. Thank you much, for even putting words together, for me and suggesting from your experience and knowledge, it means a lot. 💙

      2. Yeah, I completely agree with you. I will post blogs regularly with my shot pictures to make it more meaningful. Thanks for your feedback. It means alot. 💙

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