once i was trekking in the mountains of Slovenia, a beautiful land, alpine meadows, the clonkle tonk of cow bells.
waterfalls and hurtle fearful cataracts.
I was slogging diligently up one steep slope when a yellow butterfly alighted on my hand, groovy, within minutes, several more descended and refused to leave. hands cloaked with butter coloured butterfly gloves!

Obviously i know the scientific reason for they’re rapture, but nonetheless I tell people I ascended the mountain, in a cloud of butterflies, wafted aloft by the wingbeats of brimstones!

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