The riot of color was astounding. I hadn’t found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; I was part of the rainbow!
Dumb question. Consider the source.
I was dumbfounded with so much beauty and allegory to absorb, although not enough to render me incapable of taking my usual plethora of pictures. I was speechless, if that matters. Just a few oohs and ahs every now and then.
I could start each day with my soul centered, my heart and mind at peace for having communed with these gentle creatures. They're actually flying insects, but I prefer to stick to positive thoughts.
Away from the den of distraction (electronics, commitments, cooking, cleaning), I could simply revel in the moment, in the truly beautiful gift of life. Perhaps if I believed my moments were so few (two to four weeks is the average lifespan of a butterfly), I too would aspire to simply spread joy and wonder rather than waste my time inching my way to the top.
It’s come to my attention this morning that my moments are decidedly fewer and fewer, at least according to the mirror. Damn those slippery silvery surfaces! It nonetheless feels good to be done with the climb to the top.
Thank god for the butterflies.
They offer hope in the midst of life here on earth, proof as my body unravels that my soul will eventually take flight, beautiful and blessed with the sweet joy of my own miraculous transformation.