Dream Burnet

A friend of mine was lucky enough to have a Red Admiral - roused from its winter sleep by unseasonal warmth - flying around in his house on New Year's Day. No such luck for me: I haven't seen a butterfly since my last Brimstone two months ago, and am probably at least two months from seeing my first of 2013. This then is the depth of the butterflyless winter. Last night I resolved that, if I couldn't see one in the waking world, I'd see if I could dream a butterfly or two. Surprisingly it worked, though the result was far from being an ideal butterfly dream. The butterflies seemed to be incidental to some kind of immensely convoluted story involving underworld types operating in the Kentish countryside - perhaps illicitly breeding butterflies?! I was walking along trying to work out what the heck was going on and just how much of a mess I'd got myself into (most of my dreams involve that) when I noticed in a scrubby field what were undoubtedly Common Blues flying busily about. As I continued along the fieldside path, there were half a dozen more, at intervals, basking. By then I had been joined by a member of my dream repertory company - a random assembly of people I've often only known slightly and not seen for years, who yet insist on popping up in my dreams. As I was trying to explain what was going on to this dream extra, we both spotted a flash of red and black whizzing past - Red Admiral? No, far too small. We gave chase and, when it settled, I was able to identify it as a Six-Spot Burnet, a conspicuous day-flying moth. At this point, the dream petered out...
When I was a boy, Guildford Cathedral was still being built, and I remember visiting the site (on Stag Hill) one warm summer afternoon. On the slope below the unfinished building, Six-Spot Burnets were flying in such numbers as I never saw before or since.