Butterflies. Beautiful.

Begin like this: 

Baby caterpillars bending, biting, biting, bending. 

Change begins. Their motion ends. 
Buried in beautiful bright green our caterpillars bed down. Biding time (10 days in all) until birthing nears. 

Look! Beautiful bright green be gone as black barges in. 

Beside ourselves, our excitement builds. We wait. We watch.

It’s time, it’s time! Born again. The butterfly breaks free.

Barely there, a butterfly dries.

Butterfly #1: a big, big boy.
He is born just  fine but his luck doesn’t hold out. His wing is bruised and broken in our home. His head bleeds fluid.
My basic core hurts. 
Bye butterfly.

Butterfly #2: boy again. (See those balls upon his wing? BOYS HAVE BALLS.)

But alas, he is born with a birth defect. His left wing is battered and bruised because of me.
(I bumped his chrysalis before it dried.)
He flies slowly into the sky though, bound for Mexico.

Butterfly #3: another boy! (He’s on the bottom.)

He is beyond compare! Our luck abides.
Bound for Mexico with his brother.

 A lesson in being. A lesson in ceasing.

I beg for better luck next year. No more dying or damaged wings.

God’s impressive and amazing creation. 

Butterflies. Breathlessly beautiful. 

(By the way, this post was bought to you today by the letter B and the number 3.)



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