Spring & summer 25
the summer's wingbeats
It is said that the flap of a butterfly’s wings can cause a hurricane on the other side of the globe. The butterfly effect reminds us of the fragile web of the world, where every action, no matter how small it seems, can send out immeasurable ripples. A simple choice, a movement, a word — all become part of a larger pattern. It makes us realize that we can never fully foresee the consequences of our deeds, but also that the smallest contribution can shape the greatest event. Perhaps it is in this unpredictability that the beauty and mystery of life dwell — that every wingbeat carries a chance for change.
Poems are taken from the poetry collection Wild Bouquet, written by Harry Martinson, 1965. The texts are reproduced with permission from the author’s heirs.
The photographs were taken in Morbygden, Dalarna
The grasses intertwined
fell into each other's arms,
began to weave into arches that hid the stream.
Submerged in summer's attire
it flowed silently,
glimmering only like a silver chain.
In the heart of summer, the flower was itself,
her wingbeats were summer.
From sprout to seed she was on the run
with red poppies.
A blooming meadow can only be described by its butterflies,
only properly celebrated by its bees.
To hold together this thousand-flight
and correctly discern the bees' song
can only be done by the fairies who have practiced forever.
Taken in the bouquet, the harebells sway anxiously.
They try to wake you from your absent wide-eyed gaze.
It is still summer, but dry and seedy.
These are dry-strawy long days with a dehydrating sun wind.
The grass plant resembles brittle hair shedding grass seeds like dandruff.
Wake up, wide-eyed dreamer
call yourself back here before autumn!
The heart carved into the birch bark
has swollen over the years.
From the tree's sap it gained life and became bumpy.
A few more years and it will start beating in the forest.
The white dogwoods with their delicate floral veil
became the last curtains of the fated cottage.
The broken roof has collapsed into the house.
The path is just a strip of grassland where no one comes anymore.
But the juniper bush and the stone have moved closer to each other.
They will marry in a hundred years.
THE WINGS OF SUMMER
A butterfly’s wings usually flutter about 5–20 beats per second. To compare, a bee’s wings beat about 200 times per second, and a mosquito’s wingbeats are 400–600 times per second. The butterfly’s slower, almost “gliding” flight is thus due to large wings plus a low flutter rate, which is also why they appear so poetically calm in the air.