Butterfly


Butterfly

Inspired by a recent trip to India, and an amazing person. (6/2004; ultra short)

 

With cream-colored wings with golden highlights, she floats across the field gracefully, effortlessly. The lights turn toward her, drawn to her life force.

Her wings flap and the air currents ripple across the grassy field. Time stands still as she tangos by. No other living creature exists. Or rather, they exist but simply don’t matter.

With deep blood red wings now, she is bewitching and captivating. Watchers stop still. She is the one they watch. She is the one they admire. The field is hers and hers alone. A stage for her performance.

Suddenly, impulsively, she flitters this way and that. A buttercup, then the branch of a willow tree, then a long blade of grass. It is impossible to know what she’ll do next. Her tune is her own, an original soundtrack as it were.

So young, so precocious. Our naïf knows so much, but does not know what she does not know. Still, she is wise beyond her years. She possesses powers of which she has only limited awareness, and over which she has only limited control.

On gentle pink wings now, she travels far from home. Strange new lands, strange new creatures with ways not her own. With courage and grace, she adapts, she embraces, she lives fully. Watchers see her leaning into life, thrusting her way forward, always forward.

Brightness. This is what she brings to the world. A radiance so rare in this world of ours.

But also a mysterious sadness, only the glimpses of which can be seen, and only by the trained eye. But still there.

Oh butterfly! Fly free, fly far. Delightful butterfly, be beautiful as you already are, beautify the field and the world as you do. The watchers are grateful.

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