Well July is the month of new birth and lovely summer lollygagging.
It is also the season of butterflies.
One of the disasters of growing old in the city is the lack of natural life. When I was young I had the gift of field and brook, beavers building dams, lovely lily of the valley, and Canterbury snow bells. Did I mention Bleeding Hearts and the rare Lynx sitting in the back yard licking its paws at dawn? Then there was the moose that ran past the window on its way to the river….but I digress.
Butterflies~I must confess, fill me with awe. I had the joy of visiting the Butterfly House in Victoria BC awhile back. It was a lovely experience, all stages of butterfly life in one spot.
I remember well the butterflies of my childhood, as they danced and flitted, fluttered and kissed the flowers as they swayed in the sunshine. I lay in the un-mowed grasses wishing one would land on my nose…and if it did I promised myself I would lay so still, with no breath at all…to see if the butterfly would smile back at me or kiss the tip before it moved on.
So July for me, is still the season of butterflies. We have planted the flowers and of course I lay in the tall grasses. But now my grandchildren worry that I need help getting up. I want them to experience the wonder, the ecstasy, the fluttering of Butterflies. I want to tell them and you dear reader that we are all butterflies.
“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”