The Butterfly House

It was 92 degrees in there.  

A sunny glowing mist bath, vibrant with floating, fluttering colors.  

Snow edged tight against the glassy walls, 

where geese perched on the ice covered pond, 

just beyond the touch of the warmth. 

Butterflies,

 endless,

 overwhelming,

 impossible to take in.

  Enchantment in flight, 

 winter doldrums released.