Monarch

Her wings shone brilliant in the afternoon sun–like vestments or stained glass windows.

Wind gusts blew through the Mission courtyard, rippling the murky waters in the Fountain of the Four Evangelists. The monarch toppled upside down on her lavender stalk, and when I zoomed closer, I realized that one of her wings was torn. 

She clung to that flower for the longest while, underside showing, as if willing those breezes to either fling her loose or to help set her upright again.

Bells rang. A wedding party streamed out of Serra Chapel, bumping past me as they followed the bride and groom down the sidewalk. I looked away for a moment and the butterfly was gone. I'm sorry I missed her return to the skies, but I'm happy she found her freedom.

For my mother, who would've been 74 years old today. She loved flowers and birds and mountain streams and such, and she taught me to appreciate Mother Nature.

    • We’ve had wave after wave of company for the past few weeks, but I’ve been thinking lots about your email, Peter, and am grateful also for these words of encouragement. They mean more than you probably realize.

      I’m doing some heads-down, heart-open writing/revising today, but I’ll respond to that email really soon, I promise!

  6. My mother was the one who told me that the ancient Greek word for soul (psyche) was also the word for butterfly–which makes sense, when you think about butterflies and chrysalises. And in this story you tell, thinking of your mother, it makes sense, too.

    Beautiful photo.

    • Thanks so much, Anabel. It’s hard sometimes to find the right words. But here, as so often happens, Mother Nature revealed a pathway I felt comfortable traveling.

  8. I’d like that very much.

    (I’m deep in my revisions & therefore mostly off-line where LJ’s concerned, so if/when you post them on your blog, please let me know so I don’t miss it!!)

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