{"id":134121,"date":"2023-09-02T17:43:16","date_gmt":"2023-09-02T21:43:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=134121"},"modified":"2023-09-02T17:43:16","modified_gmt":"2023-09-02T21:43:16","slug":"hour-9-an-epic-journey","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2023\/09\/hour-9-an-epic-journey\/","title":{"rendered":"Hour #9: An Epic Journey"},"content":{"rendered":"<pre>An Epic Journey\r\n\r\nCircling, flitting, diving, and sailing, \r\nthe two butterflies chased each other\r\nover the fields of beets, ruby-sweet \r\nwaiting to be picked, bitten, and dribbled.\r\n\r\nIn summer's highest heat, they flutter\r\nclose to bright buds near the slow-moving\r\ngentle waters of the bayou as the afternoon\r\nturn slowly, smoothly, softly into evening. \r\n\r\nSeemingly limitless strength guides each tremor\r\nand underlies each deceptively smooth layer of silk.\r\nLanding on majestic elk in the Western mountains or on \r\ncinnamon trees of the West Indies. \r\n\r\nNo wonder we gasp, marvel, and dream just a bit when \r\nbutterflies flutter by, shaking us awake to our waiting world.\r\nAll the while, they fly on. Alive two weeks orten months, \r\nan epic journey propels them forward. It's our turn to follow.\r\n\r\n<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignnone  wp-image-134028\" src=\"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/nine-butterfly-300x296.jpeg\" alt=\"Image of Two Butterflie\" width=\"218\" height=\"215\" srcset=\"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/nine-butterfly-300x296.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/nine-butterfly.jpeg 488w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 218px) 100vw, 218px\" \/>\r\n\r\nI also found this <em>YouTube <\/em>video of butterflies near a bayou. \r\n<a href=\"https:\/\/youtu.be\/Tp3n1hR2EyY?si=g7y8pj6c4S-C-Fqe\">https:\/\/youtu.be\/Tp3n1hR2EyY?si=g7y8pj6c4S-C-Fqe<\/a><\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>An Epic Journey Circling, flitting, diving, and sailing, the two butterflies chased each other over the fields of beets, ruby-sweet waiting to be picked, bitten, and dribbled. In summer&#8217;s highest heat, they flutter close to bright buds near the slow-moving gentle waters of the bayou&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1019,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-134121","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134121","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1019"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=134121"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134121\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":134538,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134121\/revisions\/134538"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=134121"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=134121"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=134121"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}