I have seen a butterfly, the movement of wings, the grace of colors, the fluttering wing forms blue and purple wind as only magic can, was it a butterfly or a light of its reflection?

It flows, moving, making me part of this glory of simplicity, these lines, these flowers.

He is fierce, I fear not. He reveals forces in me I did not know I had, and as painful as it sounds, I will have to face the fire as the tail, for life is the surprise itself.

Vines growing, sprouting up, water clinging to life, or is it the other way around?

The water is playing, It moves slowly through the plants, brushing its stream against the delicate seaweed.

It's the fox. He got caught again in the net, not knowing what to do. Will a brush of magic save him?

Deep night, deep in conversation. They look at each others' eyes in wonder. Will they get to know their reflection, or maybe the reality within them?