There are ethereal beauties that catch my eye as well in the small drop in temperature. Our swallowtails are in abundance this year. They are selective in which nectar filled trumpets they visit. They avoid my purple petunias on the deck and go again and again pressing their faces into the verbena blossoms that are just inches away. They lift like a drunken feather, then sink again to the next blossom.
They look particularly beautiful when visiting the cosmos which are struggling this year against the few pounding rains after weeks of heat and drought. When these beauties are satiated they float across the yard like zephyrs with tiny silk capes; slow, dipping even, and clearly in some mindless pleasure. If I could see their faces, would they be smiling?