I made my first public visit to the park, recently. I was contemplating whether to go out or not, as I haven’t fully acclimated to the reopening of our city, given the pandemic.
I was sitting on a bench collecting the rays of the beaming sun above, and was admittedly feeling anxious. My anxiety increased with every passerby, as the chances of acquiring the airborne disease also increased.
That is until I spotted this stunning butterfly.
It caught my attention as it nonchalantly fluttered in front of my face. Suddenly, my anxiousness escaped me, and I was glad I made the visit. The hoopla of the park faded into the background, and my engagement with this beautiful butterfly was all I was concerned about.
It danced left to right, up and down, all around.
It was a light brown butterfly. Hints of black, some brown highlights throughout, and a little purple somewhere in there, too.
Radiated energy. Revitalizing. Refreshing.
The park was full of distraction, and yet, the details of this particular butterfly are all that I can remember.
The interaction was brief, before the butterfly went on its way. It lasted an instant, but it felt much longer.
Life is interesting in that way.
There’s beauty in everything, especially when you take the time to observe it.
A part of me felt like taking the butterfly home. I wanted to hold on to it. I digressed into thinking how I’d physically catch it, and some of the nuances with that, and that I probably wouldn’t do a good job keeping it.
But then, with the little wisdom I do possess, I realized to simply take it all in and observe.
The most beautiful aspect of life is being able to observe it’s beauty without needing to possess it.
Letting the butterfly have its own freedom is, perhaps, the most beautiful thing I could do.
I ponder, that the beauty we associate with a species like the butterfly is due to its encapsulation of freedom. We all learn about metamorphosis. The transition from a caterpillar to the eventual adult butterfly, like the one I observed. Metamorphosis, though, is really a process about acquiring freedom; an acquisition of their wings.
Would a butterfly still be beautiful if it wasn’t free? I’m not sure.
I pondered that question as I got up and exited the park. I also remember wondering what the probability of seeing that particular butterfly again was. Slim to none I suspect, unfortunately.
I turned around to look behind me, hoping to spot the butterfly before it exited the realm of my reality.
By then, however, it had gone.
My wishfulness failed me.
I was overcome with a small sense of sadness, and left with a heavy heart. Congruently, though, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic, knowing some other person in the park would have an opportunity to interact with it, instead.