a cruising butterfly...
stopped by
landed right on my book while sitting outside on my garden bench
today at 13:50
just finished reading this:
"by distancing ourselves from every reason for fighting,
by achieving perfect moments,
which we know we can't surpass..."
(in George Bataille's Epilogue in History of Eroticism)
when I thought of these few sentences
-such a beauty-
with how many few individuals 'we' have reached the many perfect peaks !
of how many moments !
that could never be surpassed !
and each, and each moment a beauty
each individual individually a beauty that lingers on...
...when that butterfly landed on the white page opposite the above cited passage
sat there on the page in full sunshine
in all its beauty...