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Creative Mood Writing on Butterflies
Mood writing is evocative of the great classical writers, the masters of yesteryear. In The Mood Book's pages we absorb their craft via creative prose examples. Butterflies that flutter by are the star of this page. Writing that meta-morphs from lyrical lumps to painted wing forms!
Written by Angela Abraham in 2024
Creative Writing About Butterflies of Bonny Mood and Melancholy Musings
Happy Butterfly, Heart-Flutter Sigh of Sweet Sky!
A cashmere butterfly alighted upon a bloom, a bloom of dollar roundness and of dollar-hue. Above it shone a daytime moon, for the sun though flambeaux bright was quite out of sight: cosseted, cosy, ensconced within a fresh wash of cloud. And, then in greatest number, as if each were summoned by a different blossom, a flock fluttered down. Upon that green disc, they were nature’s living crown. There was something so transporting in the expanse of that idle post-noon: a dream, a wish most pleasant, a sauntering sense of wonder. And, so it was with blithest serenity that the advancing lit hours bowed to starlight’s entreaty.
Example One:
Example Two:
The monarch butterfly was a-caper upon a carol of daffodils; daffodils singing out their colours, daffodils dancing out their blues. Its wings opened as a picture book, one of childhood days, fluttering as pages turned by a youthful hand. My gaze formed a ribbon, one of velvet light, from my heart to this insect of purest delight. If a life is to be measured in motes of joy, not in years, then am I not already the elder of so many peers? Perhaps. Perhaps. It is the artist's way, is it not, to see, to feel, to fold themselves into mother nature?
Sweet Butterfly of Melancholy Mood's Sigh, Rest With Me.
Example Three:
The pulse of her tender wings, the butterfly, and my heart were as one solemn lamenting beat. Each of us were near-silent. Each of us were near-frozen. Each of us were alone and together in the humid moment; for the air it seemed bloated, heavy, close. It was a gloomy saturation. Lady light, it seemed, had forgotten her warm-lit songs and found the skin in cooly bluish rays. Even the floral scent was sunken, though I cannot fathom how. In all of this, as companion and barometer, sat the butterfly. What I felt, she felt it too, those paper-wings cannot lie.
In Hopeful Mood, Each Raindrop was a Butterfly to Quench the Dry.
Example Four:
Each raindrop was a butterfly, a butterfly of aqua-flight, of aqua-grace and sweetly smudged transparency. My sight they did fill with more beauty than any mortal heart can dream, than any mortal heart has a right to behold. Yet, in a docile daydream, in a poet's gentle moment, I did. I saw. I grew. Those water-motes, so cool and fine, were a gift. As light gave each a rainbow hue, as wind swept each into an aeronautic ballet, flowers scented each as lovely as rose water. And so, arms wide, palms to the cloud cosseted sky, I became their awaiting blossom.
My Soul was Re-Born a Butterfly in Spring Air, Musing a Hopeful Mood!
Example Five:
In the spring air my soul did repose as if butterfly-borne, borne by as many as Brighton beach has stones. The city breeze was a briny-bluster, yet the kind that elevates. The traffic lulled and surged as if caught in gentlest lunar-gravity. Then, as a kindling star, newborn in a nebular, a lyric sparked into life, lighting up my chest, lighting up my heart. My soles pounded the concrete pavement, the streets passed in a blur. To the birds that sung upon my route, the ones I noticed not, apologies! Deep apologies! Yet an idea-galaxy does not wait.
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