The Butterfly

I walk in the meadow trying to clear my head. The sun isn’t shining bright and the weeds are long, brushing my knees. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and look to see a butterfly. I watch it as it flits around and around.

I walk towards it, stumble and fall. I smile as it flutters right above my face, just out of reach. I stand and follow it in circles. It plays with me, coming closer, then darting away. I laugh and giggle, feeling like a child again. The world is beautiful and bright.

Then the butterfly lights upon my hand and I can see the beauty of it colors, too many to count. It opens and closes its wings slowly as I watch with wonder and curiosity. And then it starts to fly away.

I don’t want it to go. I want to keep that butterfly. I don’t want to lose the happiness and peace it made me feel. But my hands would crush its wings if I caught it and its beauty would diminish in captivity. So I watch it fly gracefully out of sight, knowing I would forever cherish the few moments I had. And yet, I wonder as it flutters away, would it even remember me?

(1999)