This morning the rain is coming,
the sky is the grey of a dove’s breast,
and the old rosebush quivers in the breeze.
It has seen many winters
and for weeks, has sprouted rose hip berries,
persimmon colored, announcing autumn.
Yet, this very second it calls my attention,
for alighted on one stem
three white tattered petals still remain-
a delicate winged butterfly
(a memory of summer)
rests, pauses briefly
before the wind moves it on-
its stillness demanding
a moment of peace,
a calming of the heart
I have yet to understand.

Johanna Ely is Benicia’s current poet laureate

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