If only life were a butterfly garden ....cool and sweet and filled with fluttering, fragile creations. Color and patterns would be everywhere, like a moving mural against a background of greenery and blue sky. There might even be a waterfall in the distance and we would move through it all with delicate footsteps, awestruck by what God and nature can provide. If only life were poetry, filled with reason and rhyme and spoken in its own rhythm for no more purpose than the beauty of the words. I would want to stop time in such a place and touch the flowers - this would be a resting place, a place to heal and be restored and take away the memory.
Though not of butterfly gardens, I have memories of such times and places - sand dunes as far as the eye could see, side by side with the ocean. Seagulls soaring against a skyline, pond lilies growing wild by the side of the road, a cat with a heart shaped face sleeping against my shoulder. Waking to the silence of the first snowfall and a perfectly designed landscape that suggested sleep and peaceful dreams. The scent of a particular cologne, the sound of a harmonica wailing, the family of foxes we happened upon in the tall grass on a late summer day. The day I first discovered Anne of Green Gables, my first taste of red velvet cake, being carried away by a Stephen King novel, Pete Fountain's clarinet, the magic of a morning in Memphis or a night in New Orleans. My first sight of a small gray and white tiger cat named Tiffany and all the animals that came after.
This is my butterfly garden, small and fleeting moments that are attached to my memory like perfect sunsets or the flash of a heat lightning strike - clear, sharp, as if they happened just yesterday. They will not come again. Life in a butterfly garden would lose its magic if we were to overstay our visit.
Though not of butterfly gardens, I have memories of such times and places - sand dunes as far as the eye could see, side by side with the ocean. Seagulls soaring against a skyline, pond lilies growing wild by the side of the road, a cat with a heart shaped face sleeping against my shoulder. Waking to the silence of the first snowfall and a perfectly designed landscape that suggested sleep and peaceful dreams. The scent of a particular cologne, the sound of a harmonica wailing, the family of foxes we happened upon in the tall grass on a late summer day. The day I first discovered Anne of Green Gables, my first taste of red velvet cake, being carried away by a Stephen King novel, Pete Fountain's clarinet, the magic of a morning in Memphis or a night in New Orleans. My first sight of a small gray and white tiger cat named Tiffany and all the animals that came after.
This is my butterfly garden, small and fleeting moments that are attached to my memory like perfect sunsets or the flash of a heat lightning strike - clear, sharp, as if they happened just yesterday. They will not come again. Life in a butterfly garden would lose its magic if we were to overstay our visit.
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