Winter Solstice 2021

I was up before dawn yesterday, which was not a particular feat given the circumstance of the shortest daylight of the year.  There was a bit more energy in my oldish bones this morning, most likely brought on by the looming deadline of Christmas in four days.  In an astounding similarity to last year's situation, I am nowhere near ready to celebrate.  There are piles of clutter everywhere, moved from their usual spots to make way for the still-bare pine tree in our living room.  Plastic tubs of cookies, some waiting to be iced, are positioned precariously on the dining table.  They were supposed to be baked and shipped along with family Christmas cards a week ago...then Monday...then yesterday.  Now it's looking like a scramble to the post office before it closes at noon tomorrow, or the extended family is getting to celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas as we do, and receive their gifts before Epiphany.

I was pondering all this as I stood at my kitchen window midday, midway through my to-do list (yes, that energy did kick in a bit).  I was also birdwatching, a lovely way to avoid tasks made convenient by the bird feeders hanging from our children's old playscape in the backyard.  The feeders have been popular this week:  bluejays, doves, cardinals, Bewick wrens, sparrows, titmice, chickadees, woodpeckers, and European starlings have been stuffing themselves for a winter that doesn't seem to want to arrive.

Yes, our forecast from now until January 2022 calls for short sleeves from here on out with highs in the eighties. Santa may have to trade his boots for flip-flops, one meteorologist joked on tv.

As I watched the birds, my gaze drifted down to the patio, where a butterfly was flitting about my scrawny looking milkweed plants.  A queen, by the looks of it; could have been the caterpillar that was munching on those same plants a few weeks ago.  An odd sight for Winter Solstice, I thought, as the butterfly sampled the flowers.  Wait a minute, they don't eat from milkweed flowers. They...

Sure enough, it bent its abdomen to the underside of one leaf, then flew to another, did it again...and again...and again. 

Butterfly eggs on Winter Solstice.  And they just may survive, given our sultry days ahead.  It's been another odd year of pandemic circumstances; why not add winter butterflies to the mix?