Butterflies and Notepads

I love butterflies.  They seem magical somehow.  You never really see where they come from, or where they go.  They appear, flutter and vanish.  I like to make up stories.  Many of my ideas have never been written down.  They stem from something like a butterfly flitting by.  I say a few lines about the moment.  Then finish what I'm doing.  Imagine what would happen if I stopped to write all the thoughts I have about what I see. I used to carry a small notepad with me wherever I went.  I think it's time to do that again.   Most of my stories have come while going for a walk and scribbled down on a piece of paper.  No butterflies around now, except for the one in my hair.