Butterflies

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BUTTERFLIES



I love to watch the butterflies
as they flutter in the garden,
wisps of color, seemingly weightless,
yet they almost struggle to keep afloat
with choppy, irregular wing strokes.
To see the butterfly
in the warmth of a summer day
helps me understand
that all life has purpose,
mine and the butterfly’s, too.
The fragility of the butterfly reminds me
how delicate life is
and how, at times,
I must labor in my journey.
Then I float on wings of success
which catches the updraft
for a bit.






The powdery wings,
almost translucent,
seem lighter even than a feather.
Yet the wings, so beautifully decorated,
will carry the little butterfly
thousands of miles
before winter threatens
in my yard.






The colors tell me that life itself
is a montage,
colorful mixtures with a special quality
if I take time,
as does the butterfly,
to stop, to notice,
to savor the contrasts which make the fabric
of my life,
distinct contrasts,
yet connecting to form
a mantle of beauty
and warm memories.
I like to think of the butterfly
as a message from God,
kisses from angels,
as the soft wings of the butterfly
brush against my skin.
God sending angel kisses in butterfly wings.
How could it be any better?



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