Stillness

The river, strafed causally by intense sunlight, overhung
by a vivid canopy of blue, is insistent patches
of shimmering ripples interspersed with vast areas
of lovely reflective almost contemplative
stillness upon which islands not only seem
to float, but to drift above, above their own
soft reflections. Birds, finished their dawnish
cacophonic warmup, are content to sketch
calls around the firmament sporadicly.
Leaves of trees occasionally shimmer and
then rest in the cool morning air, content to
soak in the hot sun in upper branches and
wait for the later warmer beams to reach
into the lower, waiting, dew-cooled masses.
I wonder if the butterflies have departed,
but am too lazy to see.