Don’t You Wish To Be a Butterfly Sometimes?
Don’t you wish to be a butterfly sometimes?
I do so.
Popping from identity to identity like a nut from its shell.
When the Monarchs migrate, millions lift off like flying orange stars.
Can you hear the butterfly’s wing beat the air? That slight thud. The puff of wind so light you could not possibly feel it. Have you ever thought about the feelings, touches we miss, because we are immune to slightest touch? Because we have become accustomed to bass in our ears and stimulation in overflow.
Maybe you also didn’t because we think too shallowly, living in our toy glass globe. We hear too faint through the thick glass.
When the Monarchs migrate, the air pulses like a pumping heart. Wingbeat, wingbeat, wingbeat. For us, a slight sound in a calm forest. For them, their purpose of life and gift to the next generation. For them, an uprising.
For them, a revolution.
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