Stitch Merchant


West Ironbound

It's not every day that we get invited to picnic on an island out in the Atlantic whose only inhabitants are sheep regularly tended by our tour guide. In our case it's more like once in a lifetime. Almost as rare was the weather. Even thought this event was planned weeks in advance it turned out to be a gorgeous late summer day.

One of my favourite pictures that day was one that I didn't take at all. I had fallen behind (yes, I was taking pictures) and found myself in an open field littered with butterflies. The sun was warm on my back. I could smell the salty ocean air. The breeze blew in off the water. It was slow and gentle and it lifted all of the butterflies and carried them through the air. Hundreds of tiny wings fluttered past my skin but I only felt the soft movement of the air. The butterflies just kept coming so I closed my eyes to make it last longer or feel it better or both. The breeze started to slow down and then it was gone. When I opened my eyes, so were the butterflies.