An interaction with Primary Care earlier this week left me fairly spitting mad and I’ve had trouble re-focusing.
Maybe that was why I suddenly got up from my desk and went outside yesterday afternoon.
Which is when I had a brief but lovely encounter with one of Nature’s beautiful creations.
“Oh”, I said, “you should be on your way south!”
“It’s turning cold and there are storms!”
Butterflies are normally hard to photograph. This one seemed to pose.
As I talked to it, the butterfly did several circuits up and around then back to the bush, as if performing for me.
It was so sad, this summer, to witness the failure of 3 chrysalises, despite our best efforts to provide what they need. I had the silliest notion that this butterfly had come to tell me that the season had not been a total failure.
There may well have been other chrysalises we did not see. We hardly scour the garden searching for them.
And we have had quite a few more butterflies this year.
Far better that I worry about the welfare of a butterfly than fret over human nonsense.
There are people who communicate with other species. Many claim they can. I believe it is a very rare ability that you cannot simply acquire, even with the best intentions.
But other species are not closed off as humans have been for centuries and I think they are able to detect the vibes we put out.
Quite often, when I see a deer down in the field, it turns its eyes to me. It knows that I am watching, just as this one was. There is no exchange of information, just a brief connection.
Most wild animals do not trust us, nor would I wish them to, but I would like them to feel safe at a distance, to know that they are welcome on my property.
What of flowers? And the insects that live among them?
A solitary zinnia caught my attention. It was barely more than a feeble green stalk with a very humble bud. I have always empathized with the downtrodden and the lonely, so I talked to it.
A few days later it bloomed.
In one bed, a few marigolds finally came into bloom.
It’s a reflection of my own emotions, of course, but those little plants seem to be making a brave last, lonely display of life, so I make a point of noticing them.
There are worse things one can do than talk to flowers.
As we sat chatting, late yesterday, the light changed.
Storm clouds were lingering but shafts of golden light picked out the changing leaves…
…it’s what I’d call “benevolent”.