Steady, holding the camera against her chest, she stands in the small grove under the sunlight filtering in from above. The eucalyptus trees sway in the wind, their shedding bark and drying leaves folding against each other with each passing gust off the ocean a few hundred yards away. She breathes with it, exhaling her body into the camera, snapping pictures slowly. Above her, fluttering in circles, landing on silver green leaves, dainty wings flitter and rest. They open and then close, the orange-yellow eyes spotting the trees as if they were alive, staring at her in the morning glow. 

This is what she has been waiting for, this moment alone beneath the trees. Her fingers tingle, the quiet with nothing other than her breath and the breeze off the salty water spin in the small space where these butterflies have come to rest for a short while . The trees are awake, bodies of the most delicate beings dancing in a restful state, swirling above her as they look for places to bask in the sun. 

She brings the camera to her eye slowly as if the butterflies would be spooked by any movement, changing the depth and focus. The film camera, given to her by her mother, was losing its mercury, the gauge no longer accurate on the exposure settings. But she had developed enough film as it aged that she knew the intricacies of its malfunctioning settings, the colors and hues still capturing the world she saw around her. The trees bristled again, wind picking up in the early morning’s winter seasonal changes. 

She is listening to her own breath in concert with the breathing of the grove around her. With the right timing, each picture embodies both the stillness and the transience of this moment, the one she’s been in for the last three months. The timing of her life, the pause in this space for a short while, before continuing the migration. Her migration.

Sunlight warms the back of her neck. She takes the camera from her eye and turns around to face the sunshine, flickering through the branches to the small wooden walkway she stands on. She grows more silent and leans against the railing, tilting her head back to feel the light shimmer against her neck, her chest. Whispering through the trees, her exhale pushes the dry leaves into a chorus of gentle applause, the butterflies having finally arrived en masse. 

And when she opens her eyes, her head still tilted back, the orange black wings flutter above her, spiraling, dancing, twirling toward the blue abyss above. The fire glow of sun expands against her body. She brings the camera once more to her eye, the light meter maxing out. She depresses the button, capturing the whole of it all in one frame. Capturing the moment, appreciating the warmth while it’s here now.